The Breathing: A Star Wars Tragedy
by deuceishiphop
Summary: Jett Elleon lost everything to the Empire. Now, she seeks to join the rising Rebellion to put an end to their reign, and finds a crew of smugglers whose destination is rumored to be near a secret base on Yavin 4. Unbeknownst to them all, the Battle of Yavin is about to take place...and when a lone TIE-fighter crash-lands near their rendezvous, what's inside may spell certain doom.
1. Act I: The Corellian Resistance

**The Breathing: A Star Wars Story**

By Devin Dabney

Dedicated to my family who nurtured my creative side, my good friend Jerrette who helped me come up with this idea, my good friend Ryan who offered inspiration, my sister Ava for encouraging me to go for it, and my beloved Angelique for supporting me through the trying process of writing a full-length novel.

 **Dramatis Personae**

Jett Elleon; transient (human female)

Kam Bucca Sivora; captain, _Halo Hammer_ (human male)

Sarna Sereta; first mate, _Halo Hammer_ (human female)

Carth Torpoli; second mate, gunner, _Halo Hammer_ (human male)

Erim Getchell; courier (human female)

Ziha Ridal; mercenary (human male)

Argo Cuneen; engineer (Sullustan male)

Rezon Sog; navigator, medic, scout (Duros male)

 _A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_

 **Act I: The Corellian Resistance**

 _Talos, Atzerri –_ _three days before the Battle of Yavin_

Jett Elleon rarely relished having to kill someone.

This bloodlust – this compelling desire – was not only unnatural to her, but also fought against the core of her good nature. Her parents were peaceful people, and had raised her as such. She was never prone to violence.

Yet here she was, in a grimy cantina buried deep in the shady Pemblehov District of Talos, sitting at a dimly lit table with her hand hovering over the blaster concealed by her thigh. She could feel her options shrinking dangerously; both escapes had been blocked, and she was outnumbered three to one at the table, not counting the others scattered about the cantina. While she considered her odds, Verrul Bral - the petty Pau'an crime leader and current focus of her rage - stood staring her down from the opposite side of the table, backed up by two human cronies. His jagged teeth and black eyes formed a sick imitation of a smile.

"Looks like you're out of choices, Elleon." Verrul's tone mocked her, both regal and snide. "Now, hand over the necklace, please – I would hate for this to get…unpleasant."

She knew she could kill him right now. He was unarmed, and her A180 pistol would blow his bulbous head open faster than he could speak another word. She also knew that surprising them meant she could hit at least one, two – maybe three more of his men if she were sharp; they would all be dead before Bral's body hit the ground. The problem was she had counted at least six more armed henchmen since she sat down, and since some were pretending to be civilians, she had no idea how many more were in this crowded hellhole. Imperial patrols would take over ten minutes respond to a blaster fire alert way out here, which would be way too late. Not that she really wanted to see stormtroopers, anyway.

Verrul's sneer began to turn upside down. "My patience is running thin, girl."

 _Now or never._ She cleared her throat, and feigned anxiety. "O-okay…you win. It's yours. It's…just in my thigh pocket."

He sniggered, his grooved white skin contracting around sunken eye sockets. "Admittedly, I admire your spirit – always have…but reach for that blaster, and you won't leave this place alive. For the last time, _the necklace_ – or I'll snatch it from your smoldering carcass."

Jett swallowed anxiety – some fake, but some real. "Okay – okay! You got me - I hid it in an inner pocket on my jacket. I'm sorry." She brought her right hand from under the table slowly - a show of good faith - before reaching inside her heavy bomber jacket.

What an idiot. He had taken her bait.

In a flash, Jett snatched out her sidearm. Two blasts left the two men next to Verrul brainless. Jett immediately kicked the table into the crime boss, sending him sprawling backward. She ducked down and kicked against the wall behind her, sliding under the wobbling table as blaster fire pummeled where she had been sitting. Another shot from Jett exploded the kneecap of the Rodian bodyguard blocking the back exit, who howled in pain as he collapsed onto the floor. Civilians shrieked and trampled each other in a fit to escape, unwittingly aiding Jett by creating added chaos. She set off a smoke grenade and scrambled on all fours toward the back exit, through the screams and smoke and drips of green blood oozing from the wounded Rodian. Another blast from Jett crippled his blaster arm, intensifying his shrieks as she crawled over his body, careful to keep her head down as she pushed open the door to make her escape.

She knew they would follow her through the door, but that didn't matter – she'd fare much better in the open streets than in a cramped space. Jett scuttled to her feet, holstered her still-hot sidearm and drew her A180. She quickly began to convert the pistol to its blaster configuration, shifting its modular parts mid-stride as she rushed down the alley, away from the door. She only needed a few meters distance to set up her shots, clicking together the last piece of the barrel before lining up her iron sights. As predicted, the henchmen blindly stumbled one after another out of the bar, coughing themselves hoarse as they tripped over their fallen comrade. Blinded and disoriented, they were all fish in a barrel.

She tensed over the trigger, and exhaled…but her conscience had begun to kick in. She was already regretting killing the two men in the bar – more kills meant more regret. After a brief pause, she lowered her rifle and sprinted towards the alley's end, a slow stream of people in her sights but not enough of a crowd to blend into. _Damn…No point in being subtle_ , she thought as she sprinted to meet the street, then turned in the general direction of the docking facilities. _More people, more crowds, more cover_ – Jett repeated this like a mantra to the rhythm of her boots thumping against the ground, on roads full of trash and puddles of murky water.

Commotion erupted behind her; they were coming – she could feel it. She had to stop running – even with every alleyway she had cut through, there was no way she could fake them out on their own turf. She maybe could have taken the small band of thugs at the bar when she had a chance – when they were off guard from the smoke grenade - but now they would have surely called for backup. Who knows how many of those scumbags are out here? It didn't matter how many - they would catch her, and they would kill her. They would take what they wanted, and that couldn't happen. She had to keep running.

Panic was setting in. Each breath was more ragged and painful than the last. Jett could feel herself losing speed, her footfalls slowing, her heart hammering. But the din of the city was getting louder with hovering ships and conversations in passing. The lights were getting brighter, and more people were starting to stare at her. _No matter – keep running, keep pressing through, and pray there's no patrol up ahead._ She shoved through the streets as the groupings of people became tighter - more frequent, more closely knit. It felt like she had been running for miles before she finally came to a crowd dense enough to filter into. Thankfully, those goons weren't skilled enough for her to worry about snipers or trackers. She began to slow her stride and conceal her weapon, leaving behind the band of disoriented thugs as she did her best to blend into the crowd.

And not an Imperial in sight. Of course, you can never count on the Empire to show up when it counts.

Jett wasn't safe yet, but she began to relax more – to breathe more easily and focus. Clearing her mind was always a special sort of skill she had, but once that focus faded, all of her emotions came back. Fear, conflict and regret bubbled up inside of her, creating a sickening mixture of feelings. This was always the hardest part for her - wrestling with righteousness and remorse. Taking life never gave her joy, but she knew that some lives needed to be taken, if the chance was given…She would get another chance to kill that black-eyed bastard Verrul Bral. She would make sure of it. But right now she needed to get off this rock.

* * *

"Hm…I thought he'd be taller."

First Lieutenant Carth Torpoli peered across the bustling starport of Talos. He – along with his captain, Kam Bucca Sivora – had come there to meet Ziha Ridal, their newly hired enforcer. They had spotted him at the designated meeting spot just in sight of where they stood – or at least they thought it was him. _Someone_ was waiting in their designated meeting spot. Whoever it was, they were completely covered in a hooded black cloak with no identifying features and had been there when the two arrived. Ziha had come highly recommended due to his unique abilities, but if this was he, Lieutenant Torpoli was less than impressed; the figure seemed small and weak.

Captain Sivora stared on at what they assumed to be their man. Though he was undoubtedly unsure of what to expect, the captain seemed unfazed by the comments of comrade and friend.

"Size isn't everything, Carth. You, of all people, should know that by now. Trust me – I wouldn't have brought him on for this job if I didn't think it was worth it."

"Of course, sir." Already looking away, Carth lit a cigarette, shielding the ember with a scarred hand as he inhaled deeply. Sivora didn't notice, locked in his thoughtful observation until the fumes washed over his nose and eyes; he snapped to face his lieutenant, already scowling.

"I told you last week to stop with those damn things. You're only killing yourself."

Carth sighed and snuffed it out against the building face to his right. If it weren't for his immense respect for Sivora, he would have kept smoking; _of all of the things that could have done me in by now, some leaves and paper surely aren't going to be the killing blow_. He mulled this over before finally speaking again. "What do you say we go meet this tough guy, boss?"

The two walked down the busy street, keeping a casual pace; their rendezvous point was outside of a small parts store at the end of the street, which then forked into two perpendicular paths – a fair distance away. Talos seemed particularly crowded tonight. The starport was very much alive, anxiously teeming with engineers looking for parts, pilots stretching their legs and visitors taking shortcuts to reach the entertainment district, which glowed in the distance with neon advertisements and gilded revelry. Stone structures rose from the dirt to form the tight, tall corridor of the street, their entries yawning to reveal entrances to various shops, keeps and cantinas. The night air smelled strongly of motor oil and bore a deafening clamor, its sounds a melting pot of roaring engines and whining power tools that was seemingly everywhere at once. Aliens shouted orders to droids, customers barked at vendors and people haggled over prices for parts, passage and places to store their personal effects.

Carth hated the damn noise.

When they finally made it to the junction, the figure still had yet to move. Its hooded head was down, not quite resting on its folded arms in some meditative state. No skin was visible through the long robe that sat motionless. In fact, if it hadn't been in the exact spot where they agreed to meet, they might have thought it was a statue.

The captain spoke first, and with authority. "Ziha Ridal?"

After a few seconds of silence, the hooded figure raised its head. A pair of yellow eyes glowed through the shadow of the hood, like two burning suns. The figure then lowered its hood to reveal a gaunt human face with hollow cheeks, just barely portraying its youth through brown skin and a head of thick, neck-length black hair. The captain narrowed his gaze.

"You must be Captain Sivora." The robed man spoke through a thin smile, his voice was surprisingly smooth, almost kingly. "I trust your travels went well. And you are?"

"Carth," Torpoli replied, offering his hand to shake. The robed man either didn't notice or didn't care.

"I assume we must be going, then." Ziha rose to his feet, dwarfed by the two military men who had come to meet him. His robe sleeves fell to his elbows, betraying spindly fingers and thin arms. "You don't strike me as a man who wastes his time," he added, peering at Sivora.

"We have another stop," Sivora stated. "We haven't picked up the cargo yet – someone is meeting us to make the handoff. Let's head that way."

The captain turned to walk away from their meeting spot, heading down the left fork of the junction. As Carth followed behind, he struggled to make sense of this frail man Sivora had hired, who carried himself with the confidence of someone twice Carth's size. Ziha folded his arms back together as they walked, but kept his hood down. "Are we going far?" His yellow eyes continued to look ahead as he talked.

"It's actually this bar – right next to our meeting spot." Sivora pointed to the tiny cantina next to him known as the Hive: one of the most popular cocktail bars in the starport, and not even twenty paces from where they first stood. "I arranged to have you meet me near the drop-off point to save some time."

Ziha smiled again; he looked as if he might laugh. "It seems my first impression was right after all."

* * *

When the three men walked into the Hive, Captain Sivora found its namesake fitting. It swarmed with a wide variety of sentient beings – a number that was surprising for such a small place, making it feel quite vibrant. The circular bar in the center of the room was barely visible through the thicket of patrons – patrons whose appearances which were in stark contrast to the atmosphere that bathed them in neon blue light and smooth-sounding jazz music. Sivora led the way through the crowded space, pushing towards the back-left corner of the bar, his eyes searching for their middleman.

As he walked further into the bar, he noticed someone staring at him – someone he recognized even in darkness…a woman seated in a small booth. Her gaze was unwavering, and it took him a few moments to realize he was staring back at her with the same fixation. He lost focus on moving through the thicket and knocked shoulders with a large Devaronian, who sneered at him with teeth sharper than its two head horns. His stare broken, the captain made sure not to hit anyone else as wove his way to the woman - the middle-"man" he was looking for. Eager to get out of the crowd, he hurriedly slid into the booth to sit across from her, almost forgetting he wasn't alone as Carth also scrunched his large body into the booth. Ziha glided to the other side of the booth - next to the woman - but then chose to sit on the edge next to Carth, opting to look the stranger in the eye. She was even more striking up close, with a sculpted face, glowing blond hair and bright eyes that reflected the electric blue of the Hive's interior.

"You said you were coming alone," the woman said flatly, her voice cutting through the music.

"You said you'd be unarmed, Erim," Sivora fired back. His eyes motioned to a subtle bulge on the woman's dark jumpsuit.

"For me, this _is_ unarmed. Is your ship ready for departure?"

"It will be soon," the captain told her. He scanned their surroundings. "Where's the cargo?"

Erim reached down underneath the table to pull out a torso-sized case by its large handle. It slammed on the table with great force, turning the heads of a pair of chatting Rodians. The case appeared to be mostly made of durasteel, with several latches and a keypad. Sivora reached over to grab the case, but she pulled it back before he could touch it.

"I'll be holding onto this," Erim barked in response to Sivora's gesture.

His eyebrows furrowed. "I don't understand. You think you're coming with us?"

"My employer considered that to be non-negotiable," she stated in the same flat tone, sliding the case off of the table. "I need to ensure this transaction is handled properly."

Her actions felt strangely calculated – almost rehearsed.

"I wasn't told that," Sivora grumbled, essentially to himself in the clamor of the cantina. _Why would they need a transporter_? He wasn't supposed to ask what the cargo was – that was part of the deal - but for the first time since agreeing to transport it, he was curious.

"What if we don't have room on the ship for another passenger?" Sivora asked Erim, taking back control of the situation.

Her eyes rose to lock with his again. She had an emotionless, icy stare that somehow matched her sharp, frigid beauty – like coming face-to-face with a cobra. There was a tension that almost made the Hive seem silent.

"Then you don't have room for the cargo," she retorted.

Sivora sighed internally, but had no plans on refusing the money, even if it meant conceding. His crew needed it, and he had already hired Ziha. Perhaps this could be in his favor; he knew nothing of her current employer – this job was arranged with utmost secrecy – but he _did_ know Erim Getchell, and if she were as good with a blaster as he assumed, it'd certainly help their numbers. That scumbag Han Solo would be much less likely to cheat them – rather, he'd be less likely to succeed.

"Fine, but that'd better be the last surprise on this job, Erim. Sixty now, and 120 when we make the drop, correct?" His tone made it sound more like an order than a question; her stillness made her seem more like the one in control than the one who was outnumbered.

"Yes. Your up-front payment comes from us, and the remainder comes from the recipient." Erim slid a credit chip onto the table from the inside of her jumpsuit, which Sivora took to his own jacket pocket, zipping it shut. There was another moment of silence, but tension at the table eased up.

"We need to get going," Sivora noted as he straightened his collar and ran a hand through his short hair. "The _Halo Hammer_ has enough space for us all, but we're flying heavy, so we're gonna be packed in pretty tightly. I hope everyone likes making new friends."

No one said anything.

* * *

 _What the hell did I just do?_

Jett Elleon was wrought with conflict. An internal battle raged inside as she calmly traversed towards the starport, keeping her eyes open for more of Verrul's men. Remorse fought with rage, guilt wrestled with disgust, and her ever-nagging sense of humanity competed against her intense desire for justice. Her mind felt flooded with competing ideas, which made it even harder for her to focus on finding an escape ride from Talos. There weren't many other places on the planet of Atzerri for her to hide, but at this point, anywhere was better than where she was now.

Jett gathered her thoughts as she tumbled the Adegan crystals in her inside breast pocket, pieces of the chain necklace that Verrul Bral's crew so desperately wanted from her. Every lie she told had some truth – she _did_ keep the necklace there, just underneath her military-issue sidearm that was small enough to conceal in her bomber jacket. She always felt a sense of calm when palming the stones; each time she touched them, a cool sensation would seem to rush through her fingers, lowering her temperament along with her body heat, placating her anxiety.

People seldom knew what those crystals were, and even fewer knew about her own family's heirloom…of course, those people usually were the ones trying to pickpocket it from her, or take it by force with a blaster at her chest.

Jett felt herself relax as she came within eyeshot of the city starport. She could see a wide variety of ships, including several freighters; surely one of them could fare another passenger. This thought was enough to truly put her at ease, and she began to observe her surroundings – to feel everything moving around her. In busy places like this, she often dissected the layers of activity, studying the ground floor teeming with people going to and fro, the understory of hovercars and flying droids, and the canopy of gray buildings with lifeless windows. Each of these layers wove together in her mind, creating a complex web of life – no, _energy_ , that circulated, dying and birthing again in new forms…energy that channeled into flesh and machine, into actions of survival and persistence, commerce and violence, sorrow and compassion. She could feel it all –

Something broke her concentration. A ship parked in a distant hangar – a Corellian light freighter, the YT-1250 model. It was painted with bold stripes of orange and black, with some striking accents of yellow that shined bright despite the ship's well-worn look. It had been years since she had last seen it, but even from hundreds of meters away, she recognized it immediately.

It was the _Halo Hammer._

* * *

Corporal Sarna Sereta was known to grow impatient. Today, she was beyond impatient.

Usually, being anxious brought down her patience. Fighting her anxiety was a skill she learned in combat - from years of recon, stealth and covert militarism. Having a clear goal – having a _mission_ – helped ease her anxiety. It helped because she had a purpose, and a purpose helped her focus, which helped her excel. But as of now, Sarna had no clear goal – no purpose. Captain Sivora and Carth had left hours ago to retrieve the enforcer and cargo, but the waiting wasn't the problem…rather, it was this job in general. She knew nothing about it – not who, what, why, how _or_ where – and the only thing Sarna Sereta hated more than not knowing things, was not knowing things about a mission.

Okay - technically, she knew _where_ …but she'd never been to Vaal before, so did she _really_ know?

Sarna stood at the control panel, surveying the hangar of the starport for the sight of Sivora and Carth, her impatience growing exponentially and her foot tapping incessantly. Tapping her foot was a habit she picked up from being in the army - as a result of not being able to pace or mess with her hair, which were her original nervous habits. Now she did it naturally, along with biting her lower lip to keep her from dismantling her tied-back hair.

She trusted Sivora with her life. She did not trust this mission. How could she? She knew nothing about it – you can't trust something if you don't know it. What the hell were they hauling, and who was it from? How did they know this cargo wasn't lethal to them, or being tracked by the Empire? If they got caught - servicemen or not - the Empire was not kind to smugglers, and a lighter sentence doesn't mean much when you're talking slave labor. Sarna cringed at the idea of servitude – that bothered her more than the idea of being worked to the bone. But of course - she was forgetting – this cargo might be stolen from _another_ smuggler, and depending on who, that would be a fate far worse than slave labor.

"Ma'am? I've input the coordinates for our destination, and the nav computer is calibrated."

Sarna turned to her right to face Rezon Sog, a Duros mercenary who was both their medic & navigations expert. His face would appear menacing to most – a large head with a larger forehead, blue skin, red eyes, and a mouth seemingly stuck in a frown - but to anyone who knew him, it was almost ironic. He was more friendly and optimistic than Sarna could ever hope to be. Not that she would.

"That's great, Rezon – thank you for updating me." Lost in thought, she began to tug at her hair.

The silence didn't last. "I'm pretty excited to see Vaal," Rezon mused, looking out of the viewport. "I've researched it a decent amount in the past - mostly because I never thought I'd see it firsthand. It's such a remote planet – no sentient life, and from what I understand, a few dangerous species. We'll need to be careful if we set out on foot."

"I'm sure the animals are the last thing we'll need to worry about," Sarna said, not breaking gaze with the starport. Rezon always annoyed her with his levity, but she respected both his knowledge and competency, not to mention how his optimism had kept the group together in dire straits. Pondering this, Sarna felt a tinge of guilt for not returning his enthusiasm, but it faded when he began talking again.

"You know," Rezon began as he normally did before a monologue, "I wonder why this planet was never settled? It's warm, it's green, it has a Type I atmosphere. Of course, you could argue it's because of the predators, but the Twi'lek native home is Ryloth, and they have Gutkurrs – and Lyleks! _Lyleks_! Granted, they lived underground, so it's not like they lived _with_ the Lyleks - though some of them do live near the Lyleks if they can find ways to deter them – but my point is that life finds a way, right? And there are numerous planets in the Gordian Reach that have been colonized under much worse conditions, so I just don't quite see how a planet like Vaal has never even seen one species of true sentient inhabitants – aside from the Empire, of course, but the - "

"Rezon! Please!"

Sarna's foot was tapping louder than ever, at a rhythm that could tell time.

"Oh – sorry! I didn't mean to ramble – I'm just looking forward to it. Should be a great experience!" He gave a smile to Sarna. She did her best to acknowledge it positively, and the two continued their silence. He seemed unfazed by the waiting, and even less fazed by her restlessness. He reminded her of a droid – a very talkative droid. She imagined an off switch on the back of his head.

The idea that someone so chatty could be so close with someone so silent as Argo Cuneen was beyond Sarna's understanding. The Sullustan technician Argo had spent most of their waiting time in various areas of the ship, fine-tuning parts of the _Hammer_ that she didn't even know about…but even before that, she could've counted the words spoken by him since they met. He was a hell of a mechanic, but she didn't trust him - even though she had no real reason not to. Being laconic sure didn't help his case; at least Rezon spoke his mind – too much of it probably, but his cards were always on the table. Always.

Sarna dug her fingers into her now-messy bun of hair, caving in to her anxiety with a guttural groan. How it could be taking them SO long? It felt like she might actually start pacing again –

 _Who the hell is that?_

A younger woman was walking around the outside of the _Hammer_ , seemingly studying it. Sarna didn't recognize her, and this immediately put her on alert. Could this be about the cargo? They hadn't even taken off yet!

"Stay here, Staff Sergeant – there's someone snooping around our ship outside. I'm going to see what they want."

He nodded, and Sarna checked her holster for her blaster before heading down the cockpit corridor with renewed fervor. She retied her hair as she walked down the corridor, making sure her bun was taut and her uniform neat before walking down the boarding ramp. Once she got down the ramp, Sarna made a sharp left to intercept the stranger and ran right into her – face-to-face. The woman was brimming with youth; she was olive-skinned, had short, cropped hair, and hazel eyes that burned with intensity. If the girl had more manners and weren't in oversized military clothing, she'd almost be pretty. Almost.

Sarna spoke loudly, and with authority. "Is there a reason you're so close to our ship? What are you doing?"

The young woman straightened up her posture almost instantly – likely in response to the corporal's sharp voice. Despite this, she seemed unafraid. "Is the captain of this ship here?"

Sarna was on high alert now; this HAD to be related to the cargo. "Who's asking?"

"Someone who knows the captain, that's who."

Sarna did not like her tone. "Who are you? Who sent you?"

The stranger didn't answer her question. "Is the captain here, or not?"

"You're not really in a position to ask questions – you came up to MY ship, wandering around -"

"The _Halo Hammer_ isn't YOUR ship; it belongs to _Kam Bucca Sivora_. Now is he here or not?"

Hearing the captain's name come out of this stranger's mouth was an unexpected shock. Sarna noticed that the woman hadn't broken eye contact yet; her stare was fierce, but she wasn't scaring the corporal.

"Look, little miss, I don't know who you think you are, but I _do_ know that you can't come up to somebody's ship unannounced like that. Some people would blast you without a second thought…I had half a nerve to do it myself."

The girl sighed audibly. "If you're not gonna tell me where he is, I'll just wait out here. He has to come back sometime," she posited, before folding her arms and leaning upon a large cargo box.

Sooner than later would be great, Sarna grumbled internally. This brat was getting on her nerves. _Where the hell is the captain?_

* * *

"And you're _sure_ we're gonna clear their security?"

Erim seemed doubtful of the captain, full of questions about the upcoming journey as the group made their way to the _Hammer_. Though Ziha wasn't thrilled about this wild-card transporter, he didn't mind her constant questioning; she was asking things he too was curious about, and he preferred to talk as little as possible when doing a job. He walked behind the woman and Sivora, keeping pace with the captain's large lackey, Carth. Neither spoke a word.

"Security is the least of our worries," Sivora affirmed, turning to face her as they walked. Their body language was subtle, but telling. "This outpost is isolated and small – only 3 personnel on it, all of which were very lukewarm on the Empire. Pretty cheap to keep in your pocket, honestly."

"Hm." Erim continued staring ahead; this answer seemed to satisfy her – for now.

"The real wild card here is _Han Solo_ ," the captain continued, his square jaw clenching as he spoke the name. "That bastard has been known to escape payment on more than one occasion. We are not to release the cargo until _we get paid_."

"That's why my employer sent me," Erim said matter-of-factly. "Solo won't be doing any escaping this time."

A brief moment of silence passed. "Right," the captain stated with a nod, after which he continued his steely gaze ahead.

 _Honor among thieves_ , Ziha thought to himself, meditating on the irony. Through his work, he had come across numerous evildoers of varying degrees – smugglers, hunters, gamblers, gangsters and drug dealers – and despite their wide array of vices, they all seemed to share a common thread of thought: that what they did had laws – some form of order to it, and thus principle. But Ziha Ridal saw through these supposed principles, only beholding nature and compulsion. _Sentience has no natural law apart from the Force_.

His seething was disrupted by the strong scent of motor oils that hung around Carth like an aura. The hulking man was way too close for Ziha's liking, but he couldn't seem afraid or hesitant near him – he had to appear comfortable, sure of himself. He tried again to focus his anger, never one to waste good silence. "Silence" was of course a relative term in this starport, as numerous noises, smells, sights and interactions vied for Ziha's attention, dampening his mental connection to the Force. He could feel it fading in and out, like a dim light in the distance of an eternal fog. Diligence was key to his practice.

As they neared their destination, Ziha felt shrill sounds pinging in his ears like angry insects. He discerned the sounds to be voices – human female voices, both soaked in vitriol.

 _"You've got some goddamn nerve kid, calling me an asshole – "_

 _"You think you're hot shit just because you wear a uniform – "_

 _"Your parents must've been Tusken Raiders with these manners – "_

 _"Go to hell, you pompous – "_

Carth's ears perked up - he seemed to have noticed the voices too. "Hey boss, is that - "

"I think so." Sivora's expression bore urgency. "Move."

The two soldiers began a brisk trot, and Ziha reluctantly picked up his pace, holding his robe off the floor as he jogged. Erim hustled along as well, keeping a firm grip on the case. The shouts grew in pitch and volume as they finally approached a Corellian light freighter then galloped around to the ship's starboard entrance where they found the two voices' owners – two women. One of them was in an officer's uniform – the same outdated style of uniform that Sivora and Carth wore. She was visibly flustered, her hair in a messy bun that only got messier as her head shook around. The second woman was a lot grungier, but equally livid, her short hair frozen in place as she continued barking a flurry of insults.

The captain was about to lose his cool. "Corporal, what the _hell_ is going on?! Why are you –"

Sivora stopped shouting mid-sentence after the two women turned to face the group.

The officer spoke. "Captain, this lying sack of bantha fodder was trying to _trespass_ on our ship – "

"Call me a liar _one more time_ – "

" _ENOUGH!"_ Carth's bellow resonated through the hangar, drawing some attention to the group.

At first, Ziha could see the Captain Sivora's face burning with anger. But as he continued to watch, something strange happened. When his eyes met the scrappy-looking woman, a wave of emotions swept his face almost too fast for Ziha to read, but it was clear that he knew who she was and was not planning on seeing her here. Numerous possibilities of who this could be ran through Ziha's head – an illegitimate child, a former associate, daresay an ex-lover - but whoever this was, she was changing the captain's energy for the worse. He seemed to be aging right before Ziha's eyes; his posture slouched, and his expression melted into that of a very vulnerable, tired man.

Ziha laughed to himself _. This ought to be interesting._

" _Jett?"_

Sivora's heart dropped, then rose, then dropped again; he was face to face with a remnant of times long gone. She had aged considerably, no longer a young girl; her face was so familiar at its core, yet the machine of life had clearly chewed it up. Her familiar eyes were the same – beautifully hazel, burning with intensity no person could harbor. Her angry expression made this intensity palpable.

"You're taking me with you, Sivora. You owe me that -"

"Woah woah, slow down – you want to _come_ with us?" His shock rang through his voice.

Jett walked a few steps toward him; Sarna reached for her holster – she was now behind Jett.

"You're going near someplace I need to be, and you're gonna drop me off there," Jett commanded, her pointer finger stabbing the air with each 'you're' she spoke.

Sarna tightened her grip on her holster, now visibly livid. "What the HELL does that mean? How could you _possibly_ know where we're going?"

Erim didn't like this revelation either. "Kam, if this mission is compromised - "

"We don't know if ANYTHING has been compromised yet," Carth snapped, defending his captain. "For all we know, she could just be some vagrant trying to get aboard our ship."

"She knew our ship AND our captain by name," Sarna snapped back, "so clearly she knows _something_. Captain, do you know this girl?"

Sivora was speechless, desperately trying to both process the situation and keep his composure. When he finally did speak, it was with uncertainty. "Um, yes – I know her." His gaze then turned to Jett. "I - I don't understand. How did you find me? Why are you here? What's going on?"

He noticed Sarna's fiery expression had begun to cool, turning to confusion then worry. She could tell something was off, and her grip on her holster loosened a bit. He had already lost the 'composure' battle, and now just wished he could process everything.

Sarna spoke up. "Captain, I don't know what's going on, but if this little girl is trouble - "

"No, no, she's…she's no trouble." Sorrow seeped through his words, and he watched Sarna's worried expression morphed back to confusion. Carth was frozen in confusion, Ziha in deduction; Erim too remained still - aside & observant, as if she were watching simulations play out.

Now visibly sullen, Sivora faced Jett Elleon again; Ziha noticed Sivora was avoiding eye contact with her. "Jett, I don't know where you're trying to go, but we have a job to do. Our cargo hold is full, and we already have too many – "

"Then you goddamn well better drop some cargo, because I am GETTING on that ship, even if I have to evict one of your passengers."

Sivora noticed everyone perk up to her implied challenge, fight responses triggered. Sarna was squeezing her blaster again – seemingly hard enough to crush it - but Jett didn't even look back to notice. He might as well have been the only other person in this hangar to her. The captain sighed internally, slowly running a hand back through his hair. How could she have found him after all this time? Had she planned to track him down all those years ago – to exact some form of righteous revenge? To hurt him badly, maybe even kill him?

"Our time is not expendable." Erim's blade-like voice sliced through a wall of tension. "Make your decision, Kam."

This stirred the captain from his mental gridlock. He straightened up and tried to restore his commandant demeanor. "She's coming with us, but no one needs to be left behind. She'll stay in my quarters – I'll sleep in the cockpit."

The mass of tension sublimated, now a cloud of confusion. Sarna's mouth dropped in disbelief, and Jett folded her arms in defiant victory. The captain's hindsight suggested that was probably not the best thing to say in mixed company – most of which were dangerous; Ziha was now staring at him with yellow eyes that burned of careful calculation. Sivora might as well have written "weak" on his forehead.

"Very well, then," Erim said, her sharpness now cutting through a cloud of shared dubiety. "Let's get going. Direct me to your most secure hold."

* * *

Rezon met up with Sarna in the ring corridor as she stomped aboard the _Hammer_ ; he had been preoccupied inside the ship during the entire confrontation, and his cheery greeting was proof.

"Hello again, ma'am!" Rezon beamed with excitement. "Ah, I see the captain has returned!"

His gaze went past Sarna - down the boarding ramp, and his eyes widened with surprise when upon noticing the _three_ strangers amongst the conversing group. "Is everyone here a part of the mission? I thought we were only hiring one enforcer?"

"So did I," Sarna growled. She had been so preoccupied with that brat Jett that she had barely noticed the _other_ woman that had come along with the captain. Sarna bubbled with anger as she she turned her head to stare down this other stranger, with her cobra-like eyes and sleek blond hair. This was yet _another_ variable adding to her overall distrust of this mission. No way this would go smoothly.

Rezon was, of course, unfazed. "Alrighty then – more company for the ride! Unexpected, but we can make it work. If you guys need help with anything, just give me a shout. I'm all done with the nav computer, so I'm headed to check on Argo – he's still in the engineering compartment. I'll await your instructions for take-off!" He briskly walked on past Sarna, and she continued her furious march toward the cockpit, each step falling heavy before she flumped into the co-pilot seat.

 _How the hell can this be happening?_ _Sivora would have never taken that type of talk from anybody a decade ago, and he certainly never would have taken in total stranger to the crew so readily, never mind three_! _He was never this impulsive – he was always so organized, so airtight with his planning, such a hardass! What changed him?_

Sarna Sereta wasn't wrong. She had known Kam Bucca Sivora for a long time, and he _had_ changed since they were Republic soldiers serving in the carnage of the Clone Wars. They – along with Carth and the rest of their platoon – endured many battles, and countless close calls on many worlds. They had been together amidst a siege on Kashyyk when those religious zealots known as the Jedi tried to underhandedly take over the galaxy, only to be thwarted by the Republic – now known as the Galactic Empire. After the war, their unit was disbanded amidst the Imperial reform, and they were stationed on different systems, not seeing each other again for over six years until they fatefully crossed paths on Duro. When they reunited, they were each lacking direction in life, both having abandoned a decade of military service for civilian life – organized conflict for unorganized conflict. And though things had worked out nicely with them finding Carth and banding together once more, Sarna had noticed a huge difference in Kam upon finding him. He had of course aged, but his changes went beyond appearance; his firm resolve has softened, his fervor burned out, his liveliness smothered. She couldn't help but wonder if it had to do with why he left the Empire - especially since he was on track to become a very high-ranking officer, maybe even a Moff. She had her own reasons for losing faith in the Empire, but Kam had never told her why he had left, which made her believe something must have happened to him…but what?

Almost as if summoned, Sivora quietly opened the door to the cockpit. "Corporal, we're loading up our cargo, and I need your help ensuring everything is accounted for – especially with these three…unexpected guests in our midst." His last phrase came with a small sigh.

Sarna felt a burning urge to scream her head off at him – to retort that the 'unexpected guests' were all his doing, to ask him what the _hell_ he was thinking letting them on in the first place, and to fess up on what happened to him while they were apart from each other…but something told her now wasn't the time. Perhaps it was empathy.

"Yes, sir – I'll be right out." With that, she followed her captain to the boarding ramp in silence.

* * *

As Sivora loaded the cargo, he couldn't help but feel that they had accumulated more boxes somehow…he made sure everything was scanned for explosives or traps, but he rarely would count exactly how _much_ they were supposed to have – just that the correct cargo showed up from the correct persons. After all, if the client forgot to send everything, it was on them – Sivora and his crew got paid either way. It did seem strange that they would somehow end up with extra cargo, but it wasn't a massive enough difference to point out. Still, the feeling tugged at him as they guided the last hovering container to the ring corridor. It held particularly dicey contraband, so he stored it in the floorboards with the most illicit of goods while the rest was stored in the main hold. Under the watchful eyes of Carth, Erim and Ziha helped make the moving process quicker as Sivora stepped outside to do one last check around the _Hammer_ before departure.

Jett was still outside, arms folded in a quiet refusal of helping the crew. She continually peered around the starport, as if looking for someone. He noticed the very familiar bomber jacket she was wearing – one that he wore long ago as a pilot; _after all these years, she still kept it_.

Sivora decided to break her silence. "Jett," he conceded, "why are you here?"

She continued to look around the starport as she answered him. "I told you – I've got somewhere to be." She took a moment before adding, "And I didn't inherit a starship when my parents died."

Sivora took this remark in stride. "But where are you going that's so important that you'd come to me - of all people?"

Jett seem to ponder answering this for a bit.

"I'm not with the Empire anymore, Jett – you can trust me," Sivora pleaded.

Jett scoffed and rolled her eyes, but chose to answer him. "You guys are heading near the Gordian Reach, right? I'm trying to get to Yavin 4. I've heard talk of a…I've heard there's a secret base there. A Rebel base, Kam. And if you send your Imperial dogs after me - "

"Jett, I'm not gonna do that - I _swear_ to you. I left them a long time ago."

She still wasn't looking at him, but he pressed on. "Seriously Jett, I need to know how you knew we were headed that way. This is a covert mission, and if anybody else knows where we're headed, it could go south really quickly."

"Don't worry – nobody else knows where you're going," she assuaged, some annoyance in her tone. "I honestly didn't know, either. And believe me, I did not want to come to you, and wouldn't have if I felt there was another choice."

She finally turned to look at him. "I've been trying to find a way to Yavin 4 for a while, and when I saw your ship in the hangar earlier…I don't know, I just _felt_ that you were my way there. I don't know – I can't explain it. I don't want your help Kam, but I have no other options. I trust nobody else, and I don't really trust you, but I'm pretty sure you're not going to double cross me."

"What an ironic twist of fate that would be," a familiar voice sneered behind her.

She whipped around and drew her sidearm and beheld a tightly knit pack of armed persons – humans, Rodians, Weequays and others. At the center of this ragtag junta was the twisted smile of Verrul Bral.

* * *

Ziha knew he was not going to like staying on the _Halo Hammer_ for the next several days. As he assisted with the cargo, his eyes scanned the open rooms via the ring corridor, and nothing inside was either pleasing or promising. He normally valued interstellar travel for its meditative purposes, but space on the smugglers' vessel was limited, so they were going to be packed like Ewoks in a hut – certainly not a good place for centering one's mind. He also didn't necessarily care for the idea of being surrounded by so many unpredictable strangers; the count was now at seven, two of which were not expected by the crew either.

As they packed away the final unit and sealed the main hold, he couldn't help but wonder if he had made a mistake taking this job. Judging by some of the crew's antiquated uniforms, they were likely veterans of the Clone Wars, but the fact that they did not wear Imperial uniforms today implied a sort of disconnect from the Empire. Perhaps they were Jedi sympathizers, in which case they wouldn't bode well with Ziha's…particular skills. He would either need to win their respect or instill fear into them, lest he risk being turned on.

Pacing the ring corridor in anger, Ziha began to search the Force for answers to his dilemma. He was immediately rewarded for his fealty by the corporal hurrying towards him in a panic.

"We need your help," she panted, more or less as a command to Ziha. "Jett and the captain are in some sort of standoff. Come – now!"

She hurried off, blaster in hand, and Ziha heard several other pairs of footsteps following her down the boarding ramp. Several seconds after they hurried off, he quietly moved toward the ramp and down the decline, assessing the situation from afar. The captain and his associate Jett were definitely in a perilous situation; Ziha counted nine armed assailants holding the two of them at gunpoint, apparently led by a tall white alien with empty black eyes. They seemed to be some other band of smuggling thieves – perhaps the thieves he was with had stolen something from them? The captain and Jett had clearly been caught off-guard, as their arms were not drawn, though the remainder of their crew had come to their aid; even the blond-haired carrier Erim had her blaster in the mix. _Mutually assured destruction_ , thought Ziha with a mirthless chuckle. He had initially planned to help, but now he was thinking he should leave them to their meaningless devices, allowing the Force to sort them out. He could maybe even take their ship for himself.

 _Although_ , _if they kill each other, I'm out of a job for the time being…then what will I do?_ He had no other jobs lined up – not that he needed the money in the slightest. Ziha had other reasons for what he did, and it was those reasons that caused him to slowly approach the ticking time bomb of a standoff as a grin crawled across his face. The new band of thugs had formed a tight cluster, and Ziha had formed an idea.

 _Let's make an example of them._

* * *

"Even if you can't trust my _word_ ," Verrul Bral snarled in sardonic delight, "you CAN trust that if you do not hand those crystals over, there is no scenario that leaves you alive. That much is certain."

Jett hated to admit it, but she couldn't help but think, _he might actually be right this time._ Though Carth, Sarna, Erim, and two other crewmembers she didn't recognize all had their weapons drawn, they were not only outnumbered, but _every single blaster_ Bral had on his payroll was pointed at her. They didn't seem to care if they were killed in the ensuing shootout, as long as they killed her first. She had no idea if any of Sivora's crew happened to be insane crack shots, but even if they were it was unlikely they could kill all of them before any one of them shot her…

…and there was no way she was getting out her blaster out this time.

"You can do what you want with that brat," Sarna exclaimed over her assault rifle, "but if you do ANYTHING to my captain you won't live to regret it."

"No one has to get hurt," Sivora haggled, half-turning his head toward Sarna's voice. "Jett will give you what you want if you just lower –"

"I'd rather rot in hell than give you what's mine, you bastard!" Jett snarled.

"And so you shall," Verrul Bral conceded, lining up his sights on Jett's forehead. Sivora's crew aimed their weapons in response.

"Do not fire!" Sivora beseeched, though he knew it fell on deaf ears.

"COWARD!" Jett screamed, more livid than she had ever been.

"Poor last choice of words," Bral sneered, and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Carth Torpoli had seen a lot of things in his long war-torn life. A military brat, all the men in his family were soldiers, and he had seen some of them buried away in tombs or released into the deep reaches of space. He had seen the bloody aftermath of his platoon mowing down Separatist allies, and had collected tags off what remained of his squad mates. He had seen blaster bolts tear through heads like a hot knife through butter, and witnessed flechette launchers ripping organs to shreds, painting walls with horrific expressionism. He had even lost two fingers to the swipe from an assailant's vibroblade, though he was lucky enough to find them both, then find a medic quickly enough to have them reattached with a near-full recovery.

What happened in the next few seconds was unlike any of that. In some ways, it was worse.

Just as Verrul Bral began to fire upon Jett, an arc of pure electric energy struck his body, siphoning its conductive power to his close-knit crew. They each buckled under apparent excruciating pain, as the bursts seemed to bounce back and forth through them, forming a tortuous eternal circuit that singed hair and cooked flesh. He thought their screams were loud at first, but a second stronger surge sent them into full-fledged howls of horrible agony. One of the men lost consciousness to shock, and before long, all of them were silently convulsing, their bodies slowly warping under the stress of this horrible power like metal in a furnace. Carth wanted to turn his head – to find the source of this torrential barrage – but he couldn't turn away, enslaved by the gangsters' fate as much as they were.

After what seemed like an eternity, the electricity stopped flowing, and its violent webs of lightning subsided into sparks. If Carth had to guess, the assailants were dead long before the assault had ended, and this was made quite evident by how their smoldering carcasses collapsed the second there was no more electricity flowing through them. When the lieutenant could finally turn his head, there stood a familiar diminutive figure cloaked in a black robe, with his hood up and both hands raised in spread palms that pointed towards nine successfully hit targets. Carth couldn't see his face through the robe, but he could easily imagine the swarthy skin and black hair, all of which was a backdrop for a pair of fiery yellow eyes.

"I think HIS last choice of words was worse," Ziha Ridal added snidely.

* * *

Jett stared into what used to be the eyes of Verrul Bral, now more lifeless and hollow than they were before. Though her streak of bloodlust still wished she could have blown his head apart herself like she had imagined for so many years, part of her was just glad that he was gone. She had wanted him dead for so long that to see it finally happen almost had no real catharsis – rather, she could feel it creating a mental and emotional void in her head. Despite all these feelings, she was at some strange form of peace. She now realized that although Verrul Bral was a deplorable creature who had fashioned a hedonistic life of crime – some of which had come to affect her life gravely – she knew he was a mere slave to his compulsions, without thought or reasoning outside of the most basic desires of his ego.

Another thought crossed Jett's mind – a brief flash of a question... _had the 'coward' been Bral, or Sivora?_

Her gaze switched briefly to Sivora, who also was searching the Pau'an face for something…it seemed ironic that he couldn't recognize Bral, considering how they were connected. Amidst her spiraling thoughts, Jett suddenly remembered what caused this mass execution, and whipped her head around to where the flowing energy seemed to come from. She beheld the black-robed stranger that had come with the group following Sivora, and got a brief glimpse of two glowing yellow eyes under the hood before he began to approach them. As he moved, Jett felt an unsettling chill; the hangar had become silent of organic chatter, only filled by hisses and whirs of machinery as the cloaked figure floated down the boarding ramp, his footfalls silent. It painted the likeness of a haunting wraith – of a monster moving to the macabre chorus of grinding durasteel and compressing Tibanna gas.

The living robe hovered to a stop a few feet from Jett and Sivora; the entirety of the _Hammer's_ crew still had their weapons raised as they stared at this ghostlike figure, frozen by what they had just witnessed. One of the crew that she didn't know – a Sullustan man – looked as if he might turn his repeater rifle and fire upon their decided savior.

The female officer – Sarna, they had called her – broke the silence, closing her gaping jaw before forming a phrase.

"Umm…what, the _hell_ was that? Was that a blaster?"

"One hell of a blaster," Carth joked. "Literally – that thing is an earth-scorcher. But I didn't see blaster in your hands – where is it?"

"No blaster," the robe replied curtly, as if this were explanation enough for what they had seen.

"So, that came…from your hands?" Sarna once again spoke the group's shared awe & confusion.

"It _came_ from the Force," the robe corrected her, unfolding its arms to reveal the dark skin underneath. The figure then lowered its hood, and now Jett could see the burning fire in his eyes – very sharp, but somehow not alive. The face had a strong nose, stark features and a fragile frame that was surrounded by long, black whispers of hair.

"Some Force," Jett remarked, turning to face the man. "Are you some kind of sorcerer?"

"I…am but a mere vessel for the greater cause I represent," the man doled out, his words bathed in arrogance. "And that cause," he dragged on, "is the Force."

"Be that as it may," Sivora chimed in, "I've never seen a Jedi do anything like what you just did. Why is that?"

"I am no Jedi," Ziha sneered, the word _Jedi_ dripping with contempt. "I have chosen another path in the Force – a better path."

"You mean the Sith." Sivora turned to face him; Ziha's posture responded with aggression.

"Is that a problem, Captain?" Ziha challenged.

"Only because the Sith are an extinct religion. They died millennia ago – long before the Jedi did. How could you have possibly learned their ways, nevermind their powers?"

Ziha gave the impression of thought for a moment, but his response was mentally chambered. "One might argue that the greatest lessons in life are learned beyond the walls of a school – on your own terms."

And then he collapsed.


	2. Act II: The Halo Hammer

**ACT II: The Halo Hammer**

Ziha Ridal's mother came into her son's room late in the afternoon, while he was hard at work on a long-forsaken medical droid. Although he was but a child, his dedication to the task at hand was everything but. He wore goggles that focused his view to minute microchips and wires deep in the droid's processing units, allowing his countless hours of soldering work to be near flawless. He stopped his meticulous repairs upon hearing her enter, brushing his goggles past ear-length hair.

"Ziha my dear, I have great news! The Clone Wars have ended – it's all over the HoloNet. Your father is finally coming home!" He could hear her beaming smile through her voice.

The young boy turned to his mother, an indifferent expression upon his face. The sunset bathed her in a glowing orange light as she continued her radiant smile, unfazed by her son's moodiness. Soon, his indifferent expression peeled off like the mask it was, forming a wide smile. She laughed, her cheeks narrowing the gaze of her wooden-brown eyes – eyes just like his own – as she commanded her son:

"Well don't just sit there - give me a hug!"

Ziha ran to his mother and fell into her comfortable embrace, feeling both physical and emotional warmth. That wretched war – the thing that had torn his family apart for so long, that had taken his father from him – had finally come to an end. He thought to himself, _we could be a real family again_. His mother released him, still smiling lovingly at her child as she noticed what he was working on.

"Oh, sweetie – you don't need to worry about that thing anymore. Kabari brought a new MD home and took it down to the lab, so I've got one now."

She knelt to cup his face with her hands. "My intelligent little man." She kissed him upon his forehead before rising to her feet and heading out of his room.

Ziha turned back to his now-useless project, its gleaming black metal bathing in the gentle rays of the blood-orange sunset beaming from his window. He couldn't help but feel disappointed that his brother had beaten him to the punch. The amount of work didn't matter nearly as much to him as having lost the chance to do something nice for his mom. But, after a long sigh, he decided to ignore that nagging feeling tugging at his diaphragm and slid his goggles back on, continuing his work on the droid. After all, there was still so much to be learned from its circuitry…

* * *

When Ziha Ridal awoke, he was in the crew lounge of the _Halo Hammer_. His fingertips burned intensely as he inhaled the stale air of the ship, and even after fully stirring awake, his vision was still slightly blurry. The first face he came upon was that of a Duros male with a blank visage.

"Oh, great – you're awake!"

Such mirth expressed by an apathetic face was strange to behold. Ziha attempted to sit up. "How long was I out?" he croaked.

"Not for very long. You were only unconscious for a few seconds after you fainted, but I thought it best for you to get some rest, so I helped you in here to sleep while we commenced take-off. We'll be on the surface of Vaal in less than two standard days."

The Duros leaned in closer, analysis in his large blood-red eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine – I'm fine. Everything is fine." Ziha straightened up his posture and began fixing his robe.

"Sir, you do appear to be okay, but I would like to run some quick diagnostics to ensure that - "

"That won't be necessary." Ziha rose to his feet, almost losing his balance before making a few quick strides toward the ring corridor. His paces were without purpose, and soon his mind began racing. _What happened to me back there? I've never just passed out like that. Goddamnit – I must have looked so fragile…I'm surprised they haven't already ripped me apart. But why did it happen? I've done nothing out of the ordinary aside from use my lightning –_

 _…I guess I've never used it at THAT capacity before. Are these the true consequences of power?_

"You doing all right there, Ziha?"

He was so lost in thought that he was literally staring through Captain Sivora. As Ziha focused on Sivora's clean-cut face, the captain's dark eyes seemed to search Ziha for clues – emotion, thoughts, any kind of tell. After a few seconds, the captain added, "I was just coming to check your status. I figured maybe you were just exhausted from what you did back there - "

"I'm _fine_ ," Ziha insisted, trying his hardest to sound invulnerable. It was almost like Sivora sought to comfort him somehow, but that wasn't going to happen on Ziha's watch.

"Okay," Sivora conceded. "You win. But we appreciate what you did back there. It might have been a little…graphic, but we would have been dead without you there. So uh, thanks."

"Captain," Ziha acknowledged, adding a curt nod.

"The rest of the crew is in the quarters where you'll all be staying, save for Sarna – she's in the cockpit. I'm also not sure where Argo is, but I'm pretty sure he's in the engineering compartment."

 _Sounds like this Argo has the right idea_. He gave a slow half-bow before walking with the captain in the corridor, toward the quarters. He could hear soldering in the distance, and sure enough, once they passed the open door to the engineering compartment, the Sullustan man from earlier – presumably Argo – was working on something. As they neared the crew quarters, he could hear the shrill voice of Jett as they neared the door:

"The Empire has grown too powerful! Certainly you can't be so thick as to not realize this?"

"It's a constant game of push-and-pull," Carth's gruff voice dismissed. "When there is order, the galaxy cries 'tyranny.' When there's freedom, it cries 'anarchy.' They take these, these cries and play it up in propaganda to sway more people one way or the other – to feed the machine of war. There is no _real_ power in - "

"But what of the countless worlds razed? Species slaughtered, slaved, shipped away! And now rumors are even circulating that a horrible new super weapon recently destroyed Alderaan – a known peaceful planet!"

"I heard that the Rebel Alliance were the ones who did it," Carth replied. "Least that's what the IHV is saying."

"Oh, no way – you mean the _Imperial_ HoloVision is saying it's not the Empire's fault?" Jett mocked angrily.

"Look kid, whether it's an Empire or a Republic or a Senate or whatever it's called, they all are doing the same things. They are all using us – using our _feelings –_ as motivators for their little games. The Empire will fall one day, and another government will pick up right where it left off, only that time the losers will be the winners, who will someday again lose again. Trust me – I've lived long enough to know the way this is played."

"And we all know who loses every time," Sivora added, now standing in the doorway. "Looks like our enforcer is good to go," he supplemented, nodding toward Ziha on his right. Ziha kept his body movements to a minimum as he slid toward the last open cot of the quartet – near the door. Jett and Carth had taken the two in the back, and Erim was in the one across the door from Ziha, silently perched on her mattress as she studied what appeared to be schematics. The briefcase was underneath her legs. Ziha fought the urge to ask her about the schematics she was reading, but he couldn't help but wonder what was in that case…

"I'm gonna check on the rest of the crew," Sivora reported. "Ziha, your stuff is all under the cot – Rezon made sure to get it all on board and organized before we took off." With that, he quickly left the four of them to their devices.

* * *

Hours later, Jett Elleon walked the ring corridor of the _Halo Hammer_ in silence. The ship cruised through the hyperlanes of space with no sense of speed or turbulence, and though there was no 'day' or 'night' when traveling in space, everyone seemed to have fallen asleep around the same time – everyone except her, of course. Throughout her life, Jett had spent several years alone, so not only was she used to not having people around, but she also valued it – especially in times like these when there was not a soul nearby, not a voice spoken. Alone, she felt most like herself.

Jett was used to thinking a lot, but today, her thoughts were especially scattered and sporadic. Images swirled in her head of Verrul Bral, and the two henchmen of his she had killed to escape the cantina. She thought about the juxtaposition of vengeance-fueled violence against deep-seated regret, and how neither could exist in her heart without the other. She also thought about Kam, and the day he taught her to drive a speeder bike – a day that ended with him giving her his retired Republic bomber jacket, which she still wore to this day…about how him and her father in her childhood home, laughing at the dinner table.

She then thought about her father's lifeless body, ragged with burns from blaster bolts. He was heavy in her thin arms, pressing against the steaming blaster wound on her forearm - one she suffered that day, and would later form into a tremendous scar. Countless stormtroopers in battle regalia marched across her memory, their faceless horror descending upon her burning village like a virus on an open wound…and aside from the faces of her parents, the only other living part of that patchwork of savagery was the face of Verrul Bral, maximizing his advantage of chaos to pillage, loot and destroy. Above all the horror, it was Bral's words upon entering her home that would forever echo in her mind:

" _Commander Sivora sends his regards, child_."

That statement had wounded her deeper than any physical injury ever could – that her mentor, and her parents' _closest friend_ was somehow, someway responsible for this slaughter. Jett Elleon carried that nightmare with her long after she evaded Bral & escaped capture. She carried it long into her formative years, and today, she had carried it with her onto the _Halo Hammer_. Her parents had died in that raid, but with mere words, Verrul Bral had killed her trust for others.

Death in the sense of lost life meant almost nothing to Jett anymore. Yet and still, when someone died in front of her, it was almost she could _feel_ their existence evaporating, the leftover essence being absorbed into an amorphous haven where all life ended and began anew. She knew her parents were at peace, apart from the physical world and in this haven she imagined. But she had learned that despite knowing and fully believing this, her desire for revenge would persist until their untimely deaths were righted, and those responsible were punished.

Jett stared into the silent whirlwind of hyperspace, feeling its emptiness deep inside her. The demise of Verrul Bral had shown her that this vengeful streak hungered far further than she might be able to satisfy. Finding the Rebel Alliance almost seemed like a moot point. Even if she somehow managed to topple the entire Empire and cut down the Emperor herself, she wondered if her quest could ever really come to an end.

"Ma'am? I'm surprised to see you awake."

When Jett whipped around, Rezon Sog – Sivora's navigation's expert and medic – stood in the ring corridor, his hands holding some papers in a neat stack. His blue face and large red eyes appeared morose on the surface, but being in his presence made clear that anything but 'morose' radiated from him. Given her spiral of thoughts, this annoyed Jett considerably.

"I couldn't sleep, so I'm just trying to walk it off," she said in the nicest tone as she could manage.

"The restlessness, or the need to sleep?" _Perhaps he was trying to be funny?_

"Whichever one gives up first, I guess," she sighed, continuing her walking. She soon noticed him following close behind, and eventually they were walking side by side. She suddenly noticed how tall he was; her eyes met him at about shoulder height.

"Well, I suppose that makes two of us," he acquiesced, matching Jett's stride. "Over the last few years, I have often found myself on this ship doing the same thing you are now – sometimes with a star map, sometimes with a medical book, and occasionally, just a cup of caf." He searched his mind. "Something seems to be troubling you. I'm trained in sentient psychiatry - perhaps I could help?"

"Right now, YOU'RE what's troubling me, if that helps," Jett snarled, losing her patience.

Rezon gave a small, genuine chuckle. "Yes, of course – I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a nuisance. I know this must be really annoying – some stranger who only knows your first name insisting he can help you with your problems. Perhaps I can't help you..." And with those words, he stopped walking alongside Jett, letting her go on alone. It surprised her so much that a few paces later she stopped too, turning around to face him again.

"…But," he continued, "If you didn't _want_ any help, would you have stopped just now?"

Jett rolled her eyes, but didn't dispute his point. _He is quite the people fixer, huh? What a nerd…but what the hell – I'm never going to see him again after I get to Yavin 4. I'll throw him a bone - maybe then he'll leave me be._

"Fine – you wanna help me so bad? Be my guest."

"It'd be my pleasure," he said with a smile, continuing his walking. "Tell me what's on your mind."

"A lot of things," Jett scoffed, shaking her head as she followed him. "So much crazy shit has happened today."

"It's definitely been a wild ride," Rezon agreed, his eyes focused ahead. "That man who led the gang of assailants – you seemed to know him somehow?"

"I wouldn't say I knew him – we sure as hell weren't friends…we had a history of sorts."

"He's tried to attack you in the past?"

"Not directly…he was responsible for my village being razed by Imperials." She exhaled before adding, "I lost a lot that day."

"Someone you loved, I take it?" Rezon's red eyes were now studying Jett, processing her words.

She took a minute before answering. "Yes – multiple 'someones.' The Empire left nothing behind, and whatever they _did_ leave behind, Verrul Bral and his goons took that too."

Rezon asked the obvious question. "Does this somehow connect to your past relationship with the captain?"

"It sure does," Jett scoffed. "He and my father were longtime friends. I've known him since I could remember knowing anybody. His branch of military was stationed on my system, so they were the ones responsible for the raid. He told my parents beforehand the Empire was coming and advised them to leave, but that they couldn't tell others because too much sudden migration would risk the Empire deploying an orbital strike. My parents refused to leave behind their neighbors and close friends, so they stayed. We all did. I was twelve years old.

"They thought that the Empire would go easier on them if they just cooperated, and they _might_ have…but Verrul's gang started an assault on the village and the Empire assumed it was coming from us. So they opened fire on everyone there. The rest was chaos."

She could tell Rezon felt her holding something back, but it didn't seem like he was going to press her. He took a moment to ensure Jett was done talking before saying, "I'm so sorry that you had to experience that – not to mention how young you were when it happened. Did Captain Sivora ever come find you?"

"No – he didn't. Nobody did. Kam told my parents the Empire was coming, and left to be stationed on some other Core World. I knew enough about survival and engineering from my father that I could survive, so I became a scavenger for a while, living off of scraps for years. I did everything for myself, by myself. Then one day, I decided to go hunt the bastards that did this to me, starting with Verrul and ending with the Emperor himself." She was shaking with anger now. "They have to pay for what they did to me – what they did to those people."

"If I may ask – and this will stay between us, of course," Rezon wondered, "do you want to kill Captain Sivora?"

Jett would have never answered a question like this in normal circumstance, but for some reason, she believed that Rezon would keep his word. "I don't know. I did at first, but these days I'm unsure - I go back and forth. I used to have nothing but pure hatred for him…and yet, sometimes I would think about him and just cry until I couldn't. In some ways, it's almost like he died that day, too. I don't know what I feel for him anymore."

"But you do feel something?" Rezon queried, leaning into the conflict.

"It's a hell of a 'something,' but I guess so," she answered. Her voice was losing its sharp edge.

"Jett, I can't assume anything about you or your life, but from what you've told me, it's obvious you've had some horrific experiences – experiences that no one ever should have to endure. You lost your family, your home – everything you knew about life at such a young age, and you were forced to adapt to these terrible conditions. You seem to have recovered well and found a reason to keep living, but even so, some of that pain will never quite go away from you. It will always be a part of you, which is why it makes sense that you feel so strongly about bringing your wrongdoers to justice. And I understand that completely." He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and they stopped walking.

"The hard part here is understanding your pain, and not letting it define who you are. Otherwise you're allowing those who have scarred your past to continue damaging the life you have now."

"And how do you propose I do that?" she asked, looking into his large eyes.

"May I give you my assumptions about why you feel so conflicted about the captain?"

Her silent stare implied affirmation.

"He did something to you that just about anyone would call unforgivable, and they would be justified in feeling that way. You were a child when this happened, so not only did you not fully understand the long-term effects but also you also never fully processed it. You've never had anyone to provide a sense of comfort, understanding, or even self-identification. You may not have known all of this consciously, but your subconscious mind recognizes this huge void, and it attaches the cause of those voids with those who created them – Verrul Bral, the Empire, and the one face of the Empire you knew that was also your friend, maybe even your mentor. It was like losing your entire family while having _one of your own family members_ be responsible for it, as well as a criminal, AND a faceless evil to boot." Now he was crouching down to look her directly in the eyes.

"Kam is the mixture of what you have lost as a child and what caused you this loss. In a way, killing him would maybe assuage some of your pain, but it would also mean losing the last living relic of what once made your life whole and happy. It's a very painful dilemma, and it hurts me to hear you suffer through this. I can't tell you whether or not you choose to take revenge, but I can tell you something about me that may provide some clarity."

Jett was totally attentive now.

"It's probably painfully clear that I am an obsessive learner. I always have been – even as a young child. We Duros people are a naturally adventurous species as is, but I am especially so. I was always chasing the new experience, the new knowledge, or the new quest. And while this is not a problem in itself, it _became_ one in times of hardship. When I was confronted with issues – be it something so small as the common coming-of-age issues of making friends, or something so large as my own parents' capture and shipment into Imperial slavery – I didn't face these problems head on. Rather, I dove into learning more _–_ STUDYING more. I initially justified this with aiming my studies towards the problem – I would study sociology to understand why I didn't have many friends, or study biology to understand why I couldn't attract a mate…eventually, I learning where exactly every slave was kept in the spice mines of Kessel, on the impossible chance of finding where my parents were kept. I told myself that I was doing it so I could one day fix everything, but really, all I was doing was running away – internalizing my issues with self-perceived fixing instead of dealing with them. I think that my optimism is authentic now, but years ago, it was synthetic because I naturally want to avoid what causes me pain. Until I realized this, I leaned on this indulgence of knowledge like a crutch – like a _drug_."

"My greatest fear is pain – not a specific pain, but the concept of it. And it drove so many of my actions for so long that I didn't even realize I spent a great deal of my life running from it. In terms of you, Jett, I think that your feelings are entirely true and justifiable, but there is an underlying fear for you – a much stronger feeling. You fear that these people can do what they want to others – do what they want to _you –_ and that there are no consequences. And in the worst form of irony, your quest for revenge is driven by their evil deeds, which in some form means that if you keep doing so, they will always control your life, which the very reason you hunt them in the first place. Do you see the cycle? It can never really stop."

Jett realized her back was against the wall, and slumped down to the floor, knees to her jaw. She felt herself on the verge of tears. "So, what the hell am I supposed to do? Just LET them get away with this bullshit? Turn the other cheek?!" Her voice was splintering under the impact of revelation, and cracks began forming in its sounds.

Rezon knelt to sit in front of her. "No, Jett. This is _bigger_ than revenge – separate from it. Whether you choose to act upon them or not is still your choice, but it has become separate from your inner motives – from your deep childhood wounds. We seem alike in our sense of adventure and staying in control of our destiny, and these are great qualities…but it is important for people like us to remember _why_ we do the things we do, and _how_ we control our destiny. We cannot allow our deepest fears to take our lives from us. We cannot be sustained this way.

"The fact that you still wrestle with wanting to kill Kam after all that he has caused you shows me that you have an enormous capacity for love – for those you care about. This makes you who you are! Don't lose that - your ability to care for people, to lead & support others, your sense of altruism, your big heart. I know it may seem like the galaxy is against you, but remember that people CAN be there for you – support you, and provide a sense of understanding to you. If you can do all of that, then when you go and get those bastards out there that hurt others, you can do it without getting lost in your own demons."

Rezon stood up, but kept his eyes focused on Jett. "I know that's a lot to ask for immediately, and it's impossible to expect this all to fix itself in one day. But take it from me, it _does_ get better."

The Duros man offered a blue hand to Jett; she took it, and he helped her onto her feet. He picked up his stack of papers, and together they continued walking around the ring corridor.

* * *

"Entering Vaal's atmosphere in approximately 5 minutes, ma'am."

"Heard – thank you, Rezon." Sarna's captain had always trusted her with landing his prized ship, and she always done a perfect job doing so. But every time she did it, she couldn't help but feel a huge knot of nervous energy well up in her gut. Often times, she subconsciously told herself scary stories of how fragile they all were, and how impressively powerful their tools were – one false slip of the helm, and they were capsized, crashed, or even killed. Remembering her job, she focused on the task at hand, reminding herself that this planet was mostly flat plains and thus one of the easiest landings she could ask for – especially when compared to navigating the treacherous asteroid fields in Vaal's orbit that almost killed them not too long ago. Vaal's yellowish surface sped into view, and Sarna's brain switched to autopilot as the _Halo Hammer_ found its designated LZ with graceful precision.

Once the engines were shut off, Sarna stared down at the control panel, looking past it into her frantic mind. She couldn't help but feel that something was about to go horribly wrong…but then again, that's how she always felt. After some silence, she rose from the pilot's seat and headed off to find her captain, who had gone to alert the others of their imminent landing. The atmosphere of the planet was Type I – breathable for most species – so there was no need for any pressurized suits. As she left the cockpit, Sarna could hear the boarding ramps lowering into place, letting in fresh air from the outside. The smells that came with it drew Sarna's attention with piquant tinges of nostalgia, causing her to forget her original intent of finding her captain and instead opting to step down the boarding ramp.

Instantly, she could see why her memories had been triggered. Vaal's sun-bathed plains stretched for miles with golden grass at knee height, bringing it with it the sweet scents of lavender and peaceful waves of heat. The occasional tree stood proudly amongst the ranks of the savannah like the tallest towers of Coruscant, and the wind gave the grass a hypnotic sway that could lull her to sleep. For a moment, Sarna Sereta was no longer a war-torn sniper, but a careless child playing in the fields of her home world Dantooine.

Her first step onto Vaal's surface brought that familiar rustling crunch to her ears, yet another relic from idyllic times past. She inhaled deeply, surveying the ocean of flora like the scout she had become, now both the child in their home and a soldier on their path. Thoughts began to emerge from the ether – of the planet's history as a remote outpost, of the various natural dangers that both surrounded it and lived upon it, from its treacherous asteroid fields to its violent predators. What Sarna always found strange about 'danger' – be it carnivorous creatures, bloody battlefields or suicidal straits - was that when she really thought about it, she wasn't afraid of any of those things. She didn't fear of being physically hurt, of being maimed or even dying. No, the true cause of her fear and anxiety was the thought that she would end up exactly how she felt now on the surface of Vaal: alone, and directionless.

Sarna quickly turned back and headed into the _Halo Hammer_ to find her captain.

* * *

A couple hours had passed since the _Hammer's_ initial touchdown. The perimeter had been set – a twenty-meter radius from the ship - and all of the tall grass within it was rightfully mowed down to prevent any fauna from sneaking up on them. Jett was currently following around Carth as he traced this new perimeter on foot, ensuring that the necessary alarms were in place & functioning. She didn't understand why they were even setting up a perimeter – _aren't they just 'smuggling' or whatever they call it to feel better about themselves_? Questions added up, burning in her stomach until she finally asked Carth, "So, if this is a delivery job, why do you need a perimeter? Is the buyer coming here?"

"This is a handoff," Carth explained. "We're giving the package to another smuggler, who has the necessary means of contact to deliver this package for a larger profit."

She was even more puzzled now. "I don't understand. If he were making such a large profit, why would he want to split it with more people? Better yet, why wouldn't you just rule him out and sell the thing yourself?"

"We don't even know what this thing is, so there's no way we could 'just rule him out' and sell it on our own," Carth said as he continued working. "Kam heard of someone needing very sensitive goods transported from Atzerri to a remote planet on the other side of the galaxy, all for a covert handoff to a well-known smuggler. This smuggler – Han Solo - apparently has far more connections than we do, and knows how to find who wants whatever this is. They didn't want to give any details about the goods to neither Solo nor us, so it must be serious stuff. We need the money, and word has it he does too. I've heard he's in the red with his boss and needs to get paid up with him - fast. Makes sense why he'd prefer a quicker profit over a larger one, especially for less work."

Jett took all of this in before replying. "Seems like it'd be a lot easier to swindle him if he's already frantic," she suggested.

"We're not cutthroats, Jett," Carth told her, looking down so his slate grey eyes met hers. "We're trying to make our ends meet just like he is, and it is never wise burn bridges – especially if there's food and water on the other side of them."

"What if you have a jetpack?"

"Now you're just being stubborn," Carth groaned, turning his back to Jett. His muscles bulged like sheets of steel through his sleeveless shirt, shifting like tectonic plates every time he reached down or lifted something. He was an older man, but he seemed like he'd be stronger than most men half his age. His jaw line was certainly stronger than most men Jett had ever seen, outlined in silver stubble and several small scars.

"This is just how things in the smuggling world work," Carth went on. "You start out as a middleman or a small errand runner, but over time you gain trust, and you take on more responsibility. Not unlike any other honest job."

Jett noted the use of the word _honest_.

"I think that's the last of them," Carth said with relief in his voice, referring to the perimeter alarms. "Now for the fun part."

"What's that?" Jett asked.

"We wait for Han Solo," he told her.

 _Great_ , Jett lamented. If there was one thing she hated more than the Empire, it was waiting.

* * *

Several hours had now passed since they first landed on Vaal. The vanilla sunset had long faded into dying streaks on goldenrod and vermillion, and dusk was upon them. They had laid down a flame retardant on the mown perimeter to avoid starting a brushfire in the dry grass; Argo had initially started a small fire to keep them warm in the night, but Sivora promptly put it out because apparently the hyenax – a large carnivorous quadruped species native to Vaal – had been conditioned to follow light sources at night to find prey. This was the result of the hyenax hunting down haphazard troopers dumb enough to venture from the outpost at dark – perhaps out of sheer boredom from being trapped here for long stays.

With everything precautionary set in place, Sivora had gathered his crew for a talk. Jett initially planned to go inside, but inexplicably opted to stay, standing beside Carth as Sivora spoke.

"Okay, guys – here's the deal. Solo should be arriving no later than two days from now to complete this transaction. As some of you already know - "

"Woah woah, did you just say TWO DAYS?" Jett bemoaned. "Why are we here so early?"

"I wanted to be sure that things ran smoothly," Sivora remarked sternly, with a hard gaze at Jett to match. Turning back to the group, he ran a hand through his hair and continued, "Han Solo may be our business partner as of now, but he is not to be trusted. I _intentionally_ got here early to ensure there was no trap set up for us when we arrived. But even that is just half of the battle.

"This guy is notoriously slippery, and an unnaturally good shot, so under no circumstance are we to allow him near the cargo until _we get paid_." He spoke with determination, his fist smacking his open palm as he said each of the last three words. "I don't care what he says. Keep information to a minimum, and opportunities for deception at a zero. We cannot show flimsiness or lack of resolve." Sivora turned to Ziha, who was standing with his head down, seemingly lost in thought. "We may have backup, but I still need all hands on deck. We have to show a unified front so this scoundrel doesn't get any ideas. If we're all together, he'd have to be stupid to take us all on - Wookiee sidekick or not."

"You really think this guy will try to pull a fast one on us?" Sarna asked. She sounded genuinely curious.

"I don't know _what_ he will try to do," Kam responded. "And therein lies the problem."

Jett couldn't help herself. "You seem pretty concerned that he's gonna screw us over. Did he not pick up the tab at dinner one night or something?"

"This is not a JOKE!" Sivora couldn't yell as loud as Carth, but his voice somehow carried more gravity. His face was tinted a sickly yellow by the sunset, with stark shadows lining the creases of his anger. "Solo has a known reputation for stiffing anybody – I've even recently heard he owes _Jabba the Hutt_ a large sum of credits. I have no plan of adding our names to the long list of people he's cheated!"

The only sounds for a while were from gentle breezes swaying the grass. The captain seemed to notice how mad he was getting and tried to unclench his jaw. "We have a perimeter set up, and this planet's terrain gives us the advantage of being able to see a complete 360 view for miles. There's a very small chance he could get past us, but that doesn't mean I want you all to be lax."

"Our reputation depends upon this," he added, his tone conveying conclusion, "but we are more than capable, and I am confident we can nail it. Now, let's establish first watch."

* * *

It was with an uneasy eye that Jett watched Carth clean his customized DL-18 blaster pistol in the muted light of his headlamp. For a man who had apparently spent a lot of time around weapons, he seemed very careless with how he handled them – perhaps as though he had spent _too_ much time around them. As the hanging silence by the fire lingered on, she was bothered so much by his maintenance methods that she felt compelled to correct him.

"Should you be doing it like that?" Jett posited as Carth stared down the blaster's thin barrel.

"No other way to make sure it's in firing shape," he responded. "Besides, there's no power pack in it."

"My father used to tell me you should always treat a weapon like it's loaded."

"I've been around these things for decades, kid," Carth dismissed; Jett couldn't prevent her ensuing sigh even if she wanted to, but Carth didn't seem to care as he kept talking. "I know how some blasters work better than I know how most people work." Carth thought for a second before adding with a chuckle, "I don't plan on being killed by one, but if I am, it sure as hell ain't gonna be mine." He continued his maintenance by sanding down the hilt, but now it was _his_ turn to ask the questions, and to a different person.

"So uh, Ziha…" Carth started, turning his head to the robed man, "how did you learn to do what you did back on Atzerri?"

Ziha took a moment before responding. "I taught myself - using old Sith holocrons," he explained, a certain pride in his tone. "It certainly wasn't easy. It took a lot of practice, and a lot of dedication to the Force."

"So does that mean anyone can learn?"

"Not _anyone_." Ziha seemed to resent that question. "You have to be Force-sensitive, or you can't even get a spark."

Now Carth was interested. "How powerful is it?"

Jett groaned internally; this Ziha guy seemed to be full of himself, so he was probably basking in the glory of _that_ question. Sure enough, he proudly chirped, "I feel like what you saw earlier speaks for itself."

"Fair enough," Carth nodded. "Had you used it on other people before those guys back there?"

The Sith seemed to ponder his answer. "I've used it on others before them, but I've never had to kill anyone with it; usually, shocking them a bit is enough to get the point across. It's quite painful, even in small doses."

"Has anybody ever resisted it? Can you be immune?"

Ziha laughed so uproariously that Rezon, who was about ten meters away at his post, turned his head to see what was going on.

As Ziha's cackles subsided into chuckles, he added with unchecked swagger:

" _Nobody_ can."

Carth seemed decidedly satisfied by this answer, focusing back on sanding his blaster's hilt. Though Jett didn't care much for Ziha Ridal's braggadocio attitude, she had to admit – if there were someone capable of withstanding that awful surge, they'd have to be pretty damn powerful. She looked around the perimeter; Argo and Rezon had taken up the mantle of lookout (Rezon was especially eager to volunteer) while Sarna and Sivora had gone inside the _Hammer_ to talk. Erim had chosen to stay in the crew quarters, and the remaining three of them had opted to be outside. The night sky was amazingly clear – likely due to the fact that this planet had no sentient inhabitants, aside from the small outpost Sivora described. No people, no pollution, thus this beautiful display of absolute darkness.

Thanks to Vaal's dense surrounding asteroid fields, there were very few visible stars – even with how clear the sky was. Jett would occasionally see one twinkle brightly for a few seconds, only to fade from sight once more, presumably obstructed by an asteroid. One particular star caught her eye, burning brighter and hotter than the others. She wondered which one that might be? Jett didn't know much about astronomy, but she did think this star was particularly bright, and it appeared to be getting brighter as time went on –

"Is anybody else seeing this?"

Rezon's ploy to the group showed he had seen it too. It was clear from a small streak forming that the star had a trajectory, and it seemed to be getting closer.

"One hell of a shooting star," Jett commented, walking up to where Rezon stood.

"I don't think it's a shooting star…" Rezon's voice trailed off as his eyes settled into his pair of macrobinoculars. Jett watched the back of his head as he followed the trajectory -

"Argo, grab the captain and the corporal," Rezon asked, still staring into his binoculars. "Please hurry!"

The Sullustan scrambled to his feet, jowls flapping as he jogged toward the _Halo Hammer's_ boarding ramp. Jett snatched the binoculars from Rezon and tried to get a closer look.

"What's going on? What are you seeing?" Carth asked fervently.

"I think…it's a starship of some kind," Rezon said hesitantly. He was either unsure or didn't want to be right. "Guessing by the path it's taking now, it's probably going to land a few miles south of us."

While Jett followed the speeding fireball, she wondered how he could possibly tell its trajectory - the object was still barely the size of a dot without binoculars. She gave the binoculars back to Rezon.

"A _starship_?" Carth couldn't help but wonder, "Could that be Solo's ship?"

"Possibly – I can't quite see what kind of ship it is…"

The captain raced up behind Rezon, Sarna close behind. "What do you got, Staff Sergeant?"

"I'm almost certain it's a starship, but I can't make it out." He looked through the binoculars again, and his body language perked up. "It IS a starship. A pretty small one – certainly not a battleship or corvette. Maybe our Han Solo hit some asteroids on his way here?"

"He pilots a Corellian light freighter – not too different from this one," Sivora explained. "Or at least he normally does. Can you zoom in any more?" The object was now pea-sized, and growing quickly.

Rezon studied harder. "It's getting bigger…it looks like some kind of Imperial starfighter. TIE fighter, I think?"

"I thought you said this outpost was remote, Sivora – that nobody comes here," Jett accused. "Are we about to have an Imperial brigade on our hands?"

"That seems highly unlikely," Rezon chimed, still peering through the binoculars. "The Empire has little to no reason for bringing even a squadron here, never mind a brigade."

"Then how would a single TIE fighter end up way out here - in the middle of galactic nowhere?"

Whatever it was, it was now apple-size, and a faint whistle could be heard, with some low rumblings underneath. It probably wouldn't have been as loud amidst the din of an inhabited planet, but in the silence of Vaal, the noise was nearing deafening.

Erim was now standing on the boarding ramp; she had trotted out about halfway. "What's going on?" she shouted over the thundering above before turning toward the sky. "Is that a ship?"

"I think everyone should get inside," Rezon shouted. "It's not likely that my calculations are horribly wrong, but if my predicted trajectory is even a little bit skewed, there's a chance it could land right on top of us. Someone should start the ship up just in case; I'll stand at the foot of the ramp and continue monitoring it."

With that, the group hustled into the cover of the _Halo Hammer._ Sarna ran to the cockpit to turn over the engines, as the whistling grew louder, fuller. The others waited at the edge of the ring corridor, while Rezon stood in place, continuing to stare periodically through the binoculars. An inexplicable yearning grew within Jett to look one last time, gnawing on her mind until she finally ran down the boarding ramp to where Rezon stood.

"Jett – get back in here!" Sivora insisted, calling on deaf ears.

"Looks like it's going to land about a mile south of us – we're in the clear!" Rezon relayed to the group.

"Can I see those again?" she requested, though she took the binoculars before Rezon could even respond. The ship was now roaring like a wampa, and yet still it was careening in a precise path. When she lifted the binoculars to her face, what she saw was no surprise – definitely a TIE fighter, which now was close enough to see a damaged, smoldering wing. What she felt, however, _was_ a surprise…

A sudden sensation of isolation swallowed Jett whole, dampening her senses; for a few moments, she wasn't really even seeing the TIE fighter anymore. Sounds and smells melted away as well, and all she felt was an infinite void – nothing, all around her.

And despite how warm it still was just outside the ship, she felt inexplicably, insurmountably, _cold_.

"Brace yourselves just in case – it's coming in pretty hot!"

Rezon wrapped his arm around Jett's torso and started rushing her inside, her body stiff and her eyes still fixated on the hurtling starfighter. She now could hear the all-powerful wailing of the spiraling ship, its screams gripping her with such weight it felt like her skull could be crushed. What came next was a brief impact in the distance, followed by a cacophony of small quakes and groans from the ground bearing the brunt of the powerful impact. Dirt sprayed up in an arc several stories high above the grass, completely encompassing the vessel. It had crashed about a mile or so away, but to Jett, it felt like it had landed right on top of her.

"Everybody good?" Sivora asked out of habit; nobody had been injured, but everyone was clearly on edge. None of them were speaking or moving and didn't do so for a few moments.

"So…what do we do now?" Sarna asked, breaking the silence per usual.

The captain didn't answer for a while. He just stared at the crater formed by the downed starfighter, seemingly looking to the ship for answers. He eventually turned his head to Rezon. "Let me see those binoculars."

* * *

Sarna's mind was racing as Captain Sivora continued monitoring the TIE fighter. It had been about five minutes since the ship had crashed. It hadn't moved since, and apparently nobody had come out of it yet either. Sarna was guessing that whomever it was inside was dead, but the path it had taken to the ground was so consistent – so deliberate. It's possible they could have died upon impact if the inertial systems had failed, but the only way to know that for sure would be to diagnose the ship up close.

As she stood there biting her lip, impatience slowly crawled upward inside her legs, working its way higher up her body. It squirmed in her stomach then up through her heart, eventually wriggling out of her mouth. "Any updates yet, Captain?"

"Still no sign of movement yet…" He handed the binoculars back to Rezon, visibly uneasy. After thinking it over for a few moments, he finally seemed to arrive at a decision.

"This has to be some kind of trap from Han Solo. There's no reason for any other ships to be out here, and the troopers at the outpost ensured me no one was scheduled to come here."

"Is it possible that they could be lying?" Sarna asked, leaving no stone unturned.

"Possible, but not likely," Sivora responded, chewing on every word. "Even if they were lying and this were a scheduled arrival, why would it just be one TIE? No other ships have descended."

"Are we absolutely sure it's not him, boss?" Carth wondered.

"Han Solo wouldn't be caught dead in an Imperial starfighter," Erim chimed in. "Unless he was captured by the Empire and used it to escape, of course. He _is_ a known fugitive."

"But if he were on the run from the Empire, why would he come here?" Sivora thought out loud. "Sure, it's a deserted planet, but there's nothing here for him."

"Except a job," Carth said. "He still has debts to pay, after all. Maybe he didn't have a choice."

"Maybe…it just doesn't seem right," Sivora pondered on. "It's far too crazy of a coincidence – the timing, the location, all of it. I think it's a lot more likely that this is a setup – possibly a botched one, but a setup nonetheless."

"Why don't we just send a scout, or maybe two?" Rezon suggested. "Sarna and I could go check it out from a safe distance – that way if it IS a trap, they have much less of a chance to spring it."

"We can't just send one or two of us," Sivora countered. "I trust you two's scouting eyes more than anyone, Staff Sergeant, but if this is a ruse, he could somehow capture one - or both of you, and hold you hostage. We have to go in full force."

"Sir, you aren't suggesting that _all_ of us go? Even if this is a trap, it seems highly unlikely that -"

"We don't know what he's capable of," Sivora interrupted, already getting angry again. "If he somehow nabs even one of us as a hostage, it will totally negate our numbers. And I'm not trading lives for credits." Another thought seemed to cross his mind. "But we can't leave the ship unattended either – that might be playing into his hands, too."

Jett decided to get involved. "Kam, you're being WAY paranoid right now. This is ridiculous!"

"Stay out of it!" Sarna barked before Sivora could answer. "This doesn't concern you. Hell, you shouldn't even BE here – I'm still unsure as to why you _are_." She shot a look to the captain, but he wasn't paying attention, already lost in thought.

"It _does_ concern me if he's gonna get me killed by doing some outlandish, overcooked plan," Jett huffed.

"Stop it, you two," Carth warned. "This is not the time."

"On the contrary, it's the perfect time," Jett snapped. "Kam is overreacting, and you guys are just blindly going along with it - maybe even _feeding_ it. Rezon is right – this shouldn't take more than one scout. I say we let him check it out."

"Easy to give orders when you're not responsible if shit hits the fan," Carth parried. _Amen_ , Sarna thought. _Maybe SHE should go out there alone._

"Lieutenant Torpoli does have a point," Ziha pondered, antagonism in his voice as he turned toward Jett. "If you're so sure this is an overreaction, why don't _you_ go prove him wrong?"

"Because this isn't my mission," Jett said indignantly. "And with that in mind, if anything, YOU should go. You're the enforcer with the fantastical wizard powers. Make this problem disappear."

Ziha was now baring his teeth. "I'm no _wizard_ , you big-mouthed wretch – I'm a MASTER of the Force!"

"Well then, 'force' this problem to disappear." Her nose turned up with a spiteful smile as she folded her arms.

"No one is going out there alone!" Sivora shouted above the bickering, negotiation in his tone. "Just let me think for a second."

The longer he took to make a decision, the higher tension rose among the group.

"Okay," Sivora commenced. "We're going to do the middle ground and take half of us. Carth, you're my best blaster. Go check this out, and take Ziha & Rezon with you, as well as whoever else is willing to volunteer. I don't want any chance of our ship being stolen, so whoever stays behind with me is going to help me pilot the _Hammer_ to a new LZ until Carth's group has dealt with the situation and calls for pickup."

Jett didn't seem happy with this verdict. "Still seems totally unnecessary, but whatever you say, 'Captain,' " she mumbled.

"Ah – this is cool! An old-fashioned adventure!" Rezon exclaimed, while Ziha silently groaned.

"Permission to come along, Captain," Sarna stepped up.

"Denied. Sorry Corporal, but you, Lieutenant Torpoli and Staff Sergeant Sog are the only two I trust to help me fly the _Hammer_." He paused briefly. "Plus I've just realized that Erim can't come, because I'm guessing she won't leave the package behind, and I'm not sending it straight into a potential trap. That package and its delivery are still our number one priority. I'm not letting it out of my sight, and I want my most trusted soldier helping me guard it…so I guess that means she's staying here with us."

Sarna was dejected, but loyal to her leader. "Sir," she acknowledged.

As a brief silence fell over the group, Sarna looked over to Erim, noting about how quiet she was being throughout this debate. It seemed a bit strange – Sivora told her earlier that Erim was dominant, aggressive…maybe she was scared?

"I'll go."

The voice Sarna heard was not Erim's. Turning her head showed the sight of Argo Cuneen – the Sullustan engineer who was as intelligent as he was laconic.

Sivora seemed just as surprised as she was. "Alright, then - Argo is going. Jett?"

"Count me out," the brat said flatly. "This is a stupid idea, and I don't support stupid ideas."

"Fine - suit yourself," the captain said, attempting to make his tone sound detached. "Everyone who's going, grab what you need for a fight. Everyone who's staying, do the same. Sarna, I need you to kill all of the lights on the _Hammer_ that we don't need and put out the fire. If this turns out being a misdirect, I don't want a trail leading anybody anywhere. Carth, your group will head down to the bogey's LZ. Unfortunately, flares are going to be our best means of locating you guys, but as long as you don't make a lot of noise, you shouldn't attract any predators. You'll pop a flare when you've gotten there in one piece and pop a second flare when you've set down for our pickup spot. It's already pretty dark and the grass is somewhat tall, so keep your eyes and ears open for hyenax, or ambushes, or any kind of dangers for that matter.

"Stay sharp, everyone. Don't lose focus and keep your head."

Sarna nodded sharply, prepared to follow her captain's orders.

* * *

It had been about twenty minutes since their march began. Carth and Argo led the way with low-level flashlights mounted onto their assault weapons, and Rezon followed up the rear while Ziha walked in between the three soldiers, armed only with the Force and his prized Sith blade tucked away at his side. Ziha was already infinitely bored with this task – not only because of the walking involved but also because of how pointless all of this was. _Is this why they hired me – to go hiking through the prairie grass? My skills have only been necessary once on this whole job, and that wasn't even planned_. Without the desire to complain aloud or the resolve to accept the situation & move on, he quietly seethed in the silent walk, ignoring a mild headache by listening to the soft crunches of the knee-high grass. So far, there hadn't been so much as a peep of sound as they were wading toward their target; if anything, it seemed to get quieter as they got closer.

The TIE fighter was now maybe a hundred meters away. The smoke that billowed from its wreckage had now become thin wisps in the darkness and was barely visible by the dim lights the group carried. The stars above them in the sky were mere phantoms, and aside from the occasional tree in the distance, there was nothing but grass around them. As they neared twenty or so meters from the crash, Carth held up a closed fist, killed his flashlight and squatted further down into the grass; everyone else followed suit in sinking down, followed by Argo and Rezon turning out their own lights.

This was perhaps the first time that Ziha noticed how silent it really was…no nocturnal birds squawking, no animals rustling in the grass - not even a breeze. There was nothing but the infinite sea of prairie below, and an endless plane of flickering stars overhead. Ziha began feeling an internal uneasiness as they waited, almost as if his mind was squirming to get out of his body – to escape this freeze-frame of reality they were trapped in. His headache surged again - stronger this time, and unabated by the distractions he had earlier. He was starting to get restless when the lieutenant finally signaled to move forward, and after a few seconds of creeping through the brush, they could see the crash site.

The pilot had clearly done the best job possible. Whoever controlled the ship had not nosedived, but instead somehow managed to skid across the ground, like a rock skipped perfectly against the water. The skidding had created a wide undulating scar of dirt that stretched for at least a hundred meters beyond the crash site – an earthen gutter deep and wide enough in some spots for the four of them to stand in, and then some. The fighter lay a steaming heap - in subpar condition, but not as bad as it should have been. Ziha couldn't quite name it, but something was strange about it…

"Why hasn't the hatch been opened yet?"

Without warning, Carth crawled upon the twisted metals of the starfighter and then onto its cockpit, Argo in tow. Rezon kept his rifle up and monitored the perimeter, surveying the endless expanses with a cheerless focus as Ziha kept his eyes fixed upon the lieutenant. A few moments later, Rezon lit their signal flare and stabbed it deep into the dirt. The noises it made were unbearably loud in the worldwide silence of Vaal, and its red shower of sparks formed a bright blade with a crimson aura that pulsed against the backdrop of plains and dirt. The grass now had a blood-soaked tinge, and an inexplicable chill crept up Ziha's spine as he stared as the beam of buzzing light.

Carth and Argo settled over the hatch. Argo grabbed a hold of the hatch's manual override, and when the lieutenant signaled, Ziha heard the door click open.

* * *

Jett Elleon could see the signal flare glowing softly like a dull maritime light in the distance. Sarna had a comlink that Carth held the pair for, but it was unclear if he was communicating with her, as she had not spoken a word since the scouting group had departed. This whole side mission was ridiculous to Jett – so much that even if they found something halfway justifying Kam's delusions, she wouldn't find him any more justified in his actions. The four of them hadn't said much of anything in the last half hour, aside from Kam and Sarna relaying commands to each other in terms of piloting the _Hammer_.

They had set the _Hammer_ down in a spot very similar to the one from earlier, except this one had a rather tall tree about twenty meters away, its branches reaching out wide in the sky like arms longing for embrace. Jett thought to climb it for a better vantage point, but given the circumstance it wouldn't offer her much more of a view than she already had. She could see the crashed ship and lone flare, both bobbing in an ocean of darkness.

"Corporal Sereta here – what's the update? Over."

Jett imagined Carth's words on the other side of the comlink: _'Torpoli here. We're investigating the TIE…looks like the pilot is dead. Jett was right after all – Sivora IS being a huge dumbass. Let's just get out of here and head to Yavin 4.'_ She became so enthralled in her self-validating vision that she briefly lost touch with reality; when she came to, Sarna's voice had more urgency.

"Carth, what's going on? It's been several minutes since your signal flare went off, and we haven't heard from you. Over." The corporal sighed with a slight annoyance, rolling her eyes as she dug her fingers into her hair.

Perhaps it was Sarna's tone - Jett couldn't be sure - but something didn't feel quite right. A quick look to the tree proved even more inviting, its long limbs calling out to her – pleading her to come closer. Almost without thinking, she made her way over to its trunk and began her ascent.

"Carth, this is Sarna speaking – _please respond,_ over."

Jett made it about twenty feet in the air before stopping, and peered out into the night. She had no binoculars – no means of night vision – but somehow her sight was improving, focusing. Sarna was still in earshot:

 _"Carth, what's going on? Are you in need of assistance? Over."_

She could see the crashed fighter, as clear as the daytime.

 _"What the hell, Carth?! You know how stressed I am -"_

A sense of doom suddenly washed over her.

 _" – the LEAST you could do - "_

She could feel it again.

 _" – is give a response!"_

 _The cold._

 _"CARTH!"_

Jett didn't see it at first…she heard it – a small distant _thump_ , like a heavy mallet against a large drum. Then came light – a glowing golden-orange, distant but brilliant beyond her eyes could handle – eyes that had adjusted to Vaal's twilight. Despite the pain, her gaze widened even further, victim to a subconscious dread as she watched events unfold. Sound waves barraged her ears, ringing just behind a flash of fiery colors that evaporated into grey arcs and billows.

The TIE fighter had exploded.


	3. Act III: Two Crimson Blades

**ACT III: Two Crimson Blades**

Carth Torpoli woke up screaming.

He had sat up in his sleep again, amidst another night terror. Still panting, he instinctively panned to right, to the empty space next to him in the bed. It was still the dead of night, but now he was wide awake. Brushing back the hair from his forehead with one hand, he swiveled his legs off the bed, his feet touching the floor as he gazed blankly at the ground. He peered at the nightstand to his left - where his blaster lay, next to the face down picture frame. He briefly thought of the cold steel of the barrel pressing against his temple, but that soon passed. Not knowing what else to do, he paced the bedroom for a few minutes, full of anxiety. These feelings persisted until he decided to step out on his balcony, taking his bedside blaster and pack of cigarettes with him.

The night was brisk, and the cold air brushed across his bare, scarred chest as he peered across the glowing cityscape below him. He reluctantly opened the pack and took out a cigarette, shielding his lighter with a shaking hand as it ignited. He honestly didn't even like the damn things, but not only did he need something to do on nights like this, but the rush of calm that swept over him after smoking one sometimes helped him sleep. He inhaled deeply, followed by incessant coughing that scorched his throat. But soon, that very sensation swept across his brain, and Carth could feel himself beginning to calm down. He tried to focus on something else – anything else other than his anxiety – but he was drawing a blank. Carth tried to think about what he might do tomorrow. He could do just about anything he wanted, but none of it sounded appealing. Scratching his head with his free hand, Carth sighed before taking another drag on the cigarette. He then ashed out the half-finished cigarette before walking back inside to pour himself a drink, leaving the pack behind but taking the blaster.

On his way to the kitchen, Carth caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror, and for a few minutes, he stopped to stare at the reflection. The man he saw in the mirror was an exact clone of him, but something seemed missing – something that he couldn't quite pinpoint. An immense hatred began to bubble up inside of him, rising until he broke his gaze to continue his walk to the kitchen. In the darkness, he fumbled in his cabinets for the first spirit he could find, as well as the first cup he could grab. Setting the two down on his kitchen island, he turned the light on its lowest setting – just low enough to see where he was pouring.

That was when he noticed the cup. It once was an ordinary tumbler but had been painted over in a crude scheme of bright colors. In this mix of colors stood several black stick figures with their hands joined, resembling a strange picket fence. Noticing these details, Carth slumped into one of the chairs next to the island as his head lay against the stone. Soon enough, he forgot about the drink entirely. He then thought about the blaster once more.

Before long, he was sobbing into the cold stone, hands clenching around his head.

* * *

"What the HELL was that?!"

It was unclear if Carth Torpoli was shouting out of rage or because he had lost some hearing from the explosion – possibly both. Ziha sure felt like he had lost some hearing as he checked his robe again for embers, then stared at the now-burning starfighter about fifty meters in the distance. The cockpit had burst wide open into a ball of flames, and he could hear the remaining durasteel groaning in structural failure.

"Sir, you don't understand - that was _Darth Vader_ in that cockpit - "

"I don't care if it was Count Dooku in that cockpit! We had a PLAN!"

Ziha took his eyes from the wreckage and faced the group. Everyone was still alive. The fire from the burning wreckage gave a dull glow to the surroundings, shading them all in orange monochrome. Rezon stood alone behind them, monitoring the blast's aftermath with a raised rifle. Carth's arms were spread wide, flailing about in expressive fury at Argo Cuneen.

The Sullustan engineer Argo had – without warning – thrown a thermal detonator inside the ship upon opening the hatch to see what was inside, leaving the group to retreat in barely just enough time to not be incinerated. Luckily, no one had caught any life-ending shards of hot metal in the back; however, the concussive force of the explosion had nearly crushed Ziha's insides, and he could feel warm blood slowly dripping down his arms and right cheek – likely from smaller shrapnel flying past them. He also noticed Carth was wincing & limping slightly, probably from his haphazard jump off of the TIE fighter in a mad dash to escape. Rezon appeared to be in no pain, clearly focused on the task at hand.

"That was some plan you had, _Lieutenant_ ," remarked Ziha, speaking up with renewed anger. "You two failed to inform either of us of what you were doing up there. The first words I heard were "run" - _after_ the detonator was tossed!"

"I didn't know that was gonna happen!" Carth screamed, turning back to Argo. "That could've been ANYBODY in that ship! Goddamnit Argo, what were you thinking?!"

"It had to be done, sir!" he replied. "We never would have had a chance otherwise."

"What are you talking about, Argo?" Rezon queried, lowering his weapon. "Who was in there?"

" _Darth Vader_ , Rezon," Argo repeated. Every time he pronounced the name, his mouth seemed to strain under its weight. "He was on Ryloth the day the Free Ryloth Movement tried to assassinate the Emperor. He was with Emperor Palpatine…he cut down _so many_ of our best – even Isval…"

Ziha thought he heard rustling in the grass, but upon looking around, saw nothing. There was no wind blowing.

"As horrible as this 'Darth Vader' sounds," Carth obliged, "your reaction was still reckless, dumb, disproportionate and dangerous! We could've captured him, or if worse came to worse –"

" _You don't understand what he could do – what he DID do!_ "

Carth was so taken aback by Argo's vehemence that he could not respond right away. Prior to now, the engineer had been so self-reserved – so quiet that this behavior seemed hauntingly wrong. Ziha studied the panic plastered across the alien face, and the vexing glare from the lieutenant.

"He wasn't just some Imperial officer," Argo went on. "He was a cyborg – a cyborg that carried a _lightsaber._ And he had some kind of augmented strength – he could move so fast, lift people so easily. I watched a whole squad fire upon him, and not a single bolt even grazed him. I've never seen anybody kill so many soldiers so quickly – so…ruthlessly." Argo appeared be to losing himself in thought. "I'm truly sorry I put everyone in danger, but what I did saved our lives. He would have killed us all within seconds."

Ziha's ears had perked up… _"he carried a lightsaber"?_ He had heard legends about this Darth Vader, but legends rarely echoed true in the galaxy after countless retellings. Ziha surmised he was probably just some master swordsman that wore armor for the extra scare factor.

The lieutenant Carth echoed Ziha's thoughts. "I've heard stories about this man, but stories only carry so much weight…but you've seen him in action. Do you think this guy was a Jedi?"

"He might've been a Jedi at one point," Argo supposed, "but on Ryloth, he was something else."

 _Whatever he was, he's sure as hell gone now._ With nothing around to spread the fire, the crash site was a mere ember now, and darkness had fallen upon them walked a little closer to the wreck, looking upon it with naked eyes. The light from the fire had all but disappeared, but somehow the crimson blade of the flare still stood strong among the heap. As the Duros turned back around to the group, Ziha saw a second red blade go up in the distance … _that's strange. They must have dropped the other flare_.

That was when Rezon Sog started choking.

The thump of his rifle hitting the ground made everyone face him. His blue hands clawed at his neck, and his large red eyes grew even larger in shock.

"Staff Sergeant, what's happening?"

He didn't respond. He couldn't respond. His frantic mouth tried to open and close coherently – to form words – but all he could do was gag and grasp at his throat. Argo ran over to help his dear friend, but just as he moved, Rezon was jerked into the tall grass at alarming speed, zooming toward the crash site.

"Rezon!" Carth and Argo's rifles immediately went up, scanning the area. Ziha didn't see what had grabbed him – he didn't even _hear_ it. His head jerked back and forth to look at the surrounding grass, desperately searching for the threat.

"MOVE!" Carth screamed, and the three men sprinted toward where Rezon had been dragged. Ziha's mind demanded to make sense of what kind of predatorcould have pulled him so quickly –

" _AAAAAAAUGH! It hurts! GOD, IT BURNS! AUGHHHHHGHGH…."_

"REZON, HOLD ON!" Argo cried, picking up his pace even more as they rushed towards the anguished cries for help. Soon, the screams abruptly stopped – as quickly as Rezon had been snatched away into the darkness. As they continued sprinting forward, Ziha could swear he saw the second flare moving -

Mid-stride, Ziha tripped over something large, and his forehead smacked the ground. The grass might have padded the blow, but he was in the divot of the crash site, so his face met with compressed earth. Pain smarted through his body, and the impact to his nose brought involuntary tears to his eyes. His right leg was still wrapped over whatever it was he had tripped over, and when he pulled himself upright, he was surprised to feel the object roll towards him.

It was the head of Rezon Sog.

His eyes had glossed over.

His gaze was frozen.

His neck sizzled.

Ziha scrambled to his feet with alarm, turning back to face the crash site and whatever creature had decapitated the Duros. About ten meters away, he could barely make out a black figure and a red blade – what he mistook for a flare. It was a _lightsaber._

 _This is impossible. Vader survived the explosion._

 _How powerful is this guy?_

"Open fire!"

Carth's heavy blaster barraged the figure with a rapid shower of bolts, yet somehow, they _all failed to hit him_ , deflecting in dozens of directions. Argo threw two projectiles in the direction of the glowing sword, and Ziha instinctively covered his face. The sound of a flash bang popped in his ears, and the high-pitched whine of tinnitus overwhelmed Ziha as Argo pulled him to his feet. Clouds from a smoke grenade billowed around them.

"GET TO THE SHIP!"

* * *

In the _Halo Hammer's_ engineering compartment, the group was on high alert. Corporal Sarna Sereta could taste blood from biting her lip too hard, and hadn't stopped yelling in the comlink since the explosion, save for updating Captain Sivora throughout the chaos. Carth must have muted her – _that bastard_ , and in such dangerous times! In between her verbal assaults toward her comrade, she could hear the argument going on between him and Argo – apparently _Argo_ had thrown the grenade? The name "Darth Vader" had been repeated several times –

"We've got to do something!" Jett was squawking in the background. "They obviously need help!"

"Like I've already said, Jett, we can't go out there without knowing what's happening," Sivora told her, trying to keep some semblance of calm. "I don't know what the hell Argo threw that grenade for, but even now, we can't risk leading them to our ship or the package. We have to keep it together, and we HAVE to stay put."

Sarna didn't have time or energy for Jett's childish tirades. She walked down the boarding ramp of the _Hammer,_ peering out at the burning remains of the TIE fighter that were at least a click away, desperately trying to glean more information than her comlink was giving. Erim followed her down the ramp – presumably to survey as well - but kept silent. She hadn't said a word in hours.

" _REZON, HOLD ON!"_ Argo's voice cried through the static.

"I think something's got Staff Sergeant Sog!" Sarna screamed up the boarding ramp. Her heart was thumping out of her chest as she tangled her fingers into her hair. "Carth, PLEASE, tell me what's happening!"

Hearing Sarna's anguish, Sivora hustled down the boarding ramp to join her. As he made his way down, the shimmer of distant blaster bolts erupted in bright streaks, coupled with smaller explosions. The sounds were slightly delayed but relayed the same information, their loudness causing clipping static in the comlink.

Sarna couldn't hide her shock. "Oh, my God! KAM!"

" _GET TO THE SHIP!"_ she heard someone scream through the muddled noise of battle.

"What's happening?" Sivora demanded.

"It's a full-on ambush!" she shouted, turning her head. Kam slammed his fist against the hull of the ship. The torrent of blaster bolts suddenly stopped – judging by how long it had gone on, she guessed their weapon had overheated. She then heard the familiar sound of Carth's DL-18 firing in rapid succession through her receiver. Sarna turned to her captain, unsure of what to do.

* * *

 _PYOHW PYOHW PYOHW PYOHW PYOHW PYOHW!_

First Lieutenant Carth Torpoli was zeroed in. This Jedi-cyborg – Darth Vader, Argo called him – was certainly no ordinary man, but neither was Carth. He had watched numerous Jedi deflect blaster bolts, and aside from the greatest of the Jedi Masters, they all had a weak point. They all got tired and could be exploited. Carth was not only an excellent fighter - he was also a patient one. He knew that sooner or later, the flare of fancy swordsmanship would fade; Vader would make a mistake, and Carth would be there to capitalize.

He could feel Vader slowly closing the gap on his barrage, so he worked harder – blasting faster, aiming lethally – but time and time again he was countered with blistering speed. It was almost as if the only thing moving on Vader was the lightsaber. Carth felt the pressure growing, but if he could bide enough time to reach his tool belt and grab his riot baton –

Carth's blaster stopped firing. He tried to pull the trigger several times in vain, until he realized that his _hand_ was what had stopped firing – despite his efforts, he couldn't squeeze the trigger. The frozen sensation then swept across him in a constricting wave, leaving only his head free to writhe in resistance. It was like his entire body had been suddenly bound in carbonite. Vader continued his slow stride forward, lightsaber humming at his side; try as he might, Carth couldn't move at all.

Carth tried to see Vader's face, but it was far too dark; he could only make out the profile of a tall, imposing man wearing a long cloak and some form of a helmet, with a few colored lights on his torso. He couldn't see much of anything else, but he could still hear, and what he heard coming from his attacker was not a sound any man would make. The closest thing Carth could liken it to was an engine pumping pressurized gas from one chamber to another, rising from nothing and falling back to such.

 _KOHHHHHH PUHRRR…KchhOHHHHHH PUHRRR…_

Carth desperately tried to gain control of his hand – to pull the trigger while Vader's guard was down – but he stayed stuck in place. A ferocious anger was overwhelming him.

"You place much faith in your ability to commit violence."

The voice materialized from the darkness itself, a vocoder-enhanced drone of bass notes. It spoke slowly, and methodically.

"Perhaps this faith is less in your abilities," the voice went on, "and more in your _weapons_."

Carth wasn't moving his blaster hand, but he could feel it turning – _see_ the blasterturning – towards himself.

"What the hell is this?" Carth demanded. "What have you done to me?"

"Your question is misplaced," the voice answered. "You should be more concerned for what is to come."

"I'm not telling you a damn thing, you hear me?" Carth was alive with rage. "Nothing!"

Carth's hand was still gripping the blaster, which despite his loss of control, was now aimed at his right leg.

"Pity," the voice lowed. "I was feeling generous."

 _PYOHW!_

Carth's kneecap vaporized as quickly as the blaster bolt itself. He gritted his teeth trying to hold in screams, but the searing pain was so immense that he let out a tortured howl – part suffering, part wrath. His breaths were ragged and shallow, constricted by the invisible bind holding him in place.

"Perhaps you've had a change of heart?" The voice hummed. Carth could still hear the mechanical gas chambers hissing, compressing.

The lieutenant let out a mirthless laugh. "Not a chance, you piece of shit."

" _Good_ ," the voice buzzed with appraisal. "I prefer a fight to the end."

 _PYOHW!_

Carth's left leg didn't move, but if it could have, it would have folded in a soft heap of seared muscle and bone. His head lolled and twisted – the only part of himself he _could_ move – in the purest form of agony he had ever known. The smell of burning flesh reminded him of his years in countless battlefields turned mass graves and made him sick. Vomit crept up his throat.

"GODDAMN YOU!" Carth roared defiantly.

"God can't hear you," the voice replied calmly.

* * *

 _*PYOHW!*_ The blaster sounded through the comlink again, and Carth screamed again. Louder.

"Kam, you BASTARD!" Jett was yelling at the top of her lungs. "We've got to HELP THEM!"

The captain didn't know what to say. He stared past the wall of the compartment, into his thoughts. Things had fallen apart so quickly – so unexpectedly, despite his best precautionary efforts. His firm resolve to avoid being surprised had clearly bitten him in the ass, and now he was possibly paying the severe price of losing four lives – one of which belonged to two of his closest friends. _Rezon was right – I should have just sent a scout. NOW look what has happened._ Rezon - the medic, the navigator, and the enthusiastic glue of the _Halo Hammer's_ crew - was now dead. And Sivora wanted nothing more than to forsake this whole mission and potentially risk losing more lives just to save First Lieutenant Torpoli, and would have if he had known how grave this would become. Unfortunately, the realist in him knew that Carth would be dead long before they arrived, as whoever had assaulted them did not seem interested in taking prisoners.

Sivora could feel his mind unhinging, his body stiff and catatonic. Suddenly, his impulses kicked in. _Screw the odds, you idiot – go save your friend! You have to at least try – maybe even DIE trying._ With this revelation, he turned to Sarna to relay orders for their suicidal rescue mission.

And then he felt a fist hit him across the face.

In a normal fight, he should have been able to take on Jett – he was much larger, and formally trained in combat – but he was so disoriented, so confused…and she was fast, and _angry_. She had pinned her knees into his groin, and was furiously bashing against his face and chest.

"I'll take this ship and save them if I have to!" Jett snarled amidst doling him a flurry of blows.

"Get off him, you bitch!" he heard Sarna scream, followed by the click of her blaster holster.

 _PTSHEW!_

Jett stopped swinging her fists – stopped moving entirely. When Sivora looked behind her, he saw Sarna aiming right at Jett's back.

But Sarna hadn't fired a shot yet.

Turning his head to the left, he saw Erim Getchell. She had drawn her pair of WESTAR-35 blasters - a unique model. One was pointing inches from Sarna's head, and another skywards, towards a fresh burn mark in the ceiling. Her first spoken words in hours were bold ones.

"This is going to stop. Right now."

"And who are you to say what's 'going to stop?'" Sarna challenged. "You shouldn't be here, either! NEITHER of you should!"

"There are two possible ways for this to go," Erim spoke dryly. "One: you holster your blaster, YOU stop wrestling on the floor, and we figure out what to do next. Two: your blaster goes anywhere _but_ your holster, and I fire. Which is more likely to save your friend?"

Everyone's eyes were on Sarna now. After an acidic glare, she conceded, holstering her weapon.

"Okay," Erim started, sliding one blaster into her jumpsuit. "What do we know? We know that a TIE fighter has crash-landed here two days before our scheduled rendezvous. We know that no other sentient beings arrived at the crash site before our scouting team because we monitored it continuously. We know that a TIE fighter can fit hold no more than two people, and that is just based on space, so it's most likely one sentient being."

Everyone's silence implied agreement. Erim's gaze fell upon Sivora. He could now feel the blood running from the corner of his mouth.

"We know that Rezon was your smartest scout, Argo was your sharpest tactician, Carth was your best soldier, and Ziha was a…uniquely qualified enforcer. We also know that whoever is out there right now eluded Rezon's eye when he _expected_ someone to be there, outmaneuvered Argo's prepared plan, neutralized Ziha - the guy we saw fry ten people with his bare hands - and is currently subduing & torturing a seasoned, practiced killer of other seasoned, practiced killers. _All by themself_."

Erim paused to let this information sink in.

"I don't know who is on the other side of that comlink, but whoever it is, they are smarter than us, stronger than us, have a sharper eye than any of us, and are unlike anything we've ever seen. Tell me Kam, from a military standpoint, what do you do if your enemy has you outgunned, outsmarted AND has an unknown edge?"

Sivora was lost in a swirling torrent of guilt, anger, confusion and fear. He was quiet long enough to notice that Carth's screams through the com link had stopped. There was now another sound coming through – a strange one…the audio quality was muddled at best, but even so, what he heard was distinctly mechanical and rhythmic.

 _KOHHHHHH PUHRRR…KOHHHHHH PHRR…KHHOHHHHHH PUHRRRR…_

His eyes met with Sarna's, and thoughts of their shared past came rushing to his head that filled him with emotion – of surviving near-death brushes with Carth, of meeting the eccentric brilliance of Rezon Sog, and the unmatched technical skills of Argo Cuneen. Clarity came rushing back to the captain, and as he climbed to his feet, his answer to Erim was as confident as it was clear.

"I'll tell you what we would do – what we are _going_ to do. We assess the situation, we prepare for the worst with the best of what we have. We suffer the hard loss, but we regroup, and come back stronger - together. We take out the enemy and recover what's ours, or we fight to the last man."

A voice spoke in the white noise that was not Carth's; it was deep, synthesized, and menacing.

" _Yes - come to his rescue, because that's what he would do for you."_

Sivora noticed a shiver jolt through Jett's spine.

" _Your master has taught you that there is power in loyalty and unity, but what you will soon learn is there are no substitutes for TRUE power. You all are alone and weak - like your comrade is now. And the sooner you come to his rescue, the sooner I can teach you your final lesson."_

Then, the signal cut out.

* * *

Although Ziha Ridal and Argo Cuneen had ran for quite some time before stopping, they were not ignorant of what had happened to First Lieutenant Carth Torpoli. They had heard the blaster fire. They had heard his screams. And they could still see Vader's saber shimmering in the distance, long after the embers of the TIE fighter had died out. Residual smoke from Argo's grenade had settled a low fog over the surrounding grass, chilled by the night air and giving Vaal's plains a swampy appearance. The saber's blood-red glow suddenly disappeared, and immediately Argo dragged Ziha to the ground, laying them both flat on their fronts in the tall grass.

"Listen very carefully to me," Argo whispered. "The ship is about a click or so away. We're going to have to crawl most of the way there to avoid detection - "

"No no no, you don't plan on _running away_ , do you?" Ziha interrupted, trying to get up. "We have to KILL him! We can take him - _I_ can take - "

"SHHH!" Argo shushed urgently. "Stay down! You won't last two seconds fighting him."

 _Has this fool forgotten my power?_ "I will show you the power of the Force is NOT to be underestimated - "

"Look, I know you're not a Sith Lord, okay? Stop this or you're going to get us both killed."

Ziha was enraged. "I should destroy you right now for even suggesting that – "

"When you passed out on Atzerri, I helped Rezon carry you into the _Hammer_. While we were setting you onto the table for medical examination, I propped your arm up and got burned by your hand. I thought maybe your fingers were just hot from the lightning, but then I smelled a very familiar smell…burnt circuitry. So, on a whim, we removed your gloves and I analyzed them. You engineered them to make that lightning. Your eyes aren't even that color – we examined them during our diagnostics too. They're _contact lenses_."

There were a few moments of silence.

"Who else on that ship knows about this?" Ziha asked quickly.

"Just Rezon. Honestly, I wanted to confront you about it, but Rezon said there was no point. The group wouldn't trust you if they found out you deceived us, and since you had just saved our lives, he thought the least we could do to pay you back was help keep your secret. So we did."

Ziha didn't say anything.

"Look man, even if you _were_ a Sith, I don't know how much of a chance you'd stand against Vader. None of us do. Legend has it he is what remains of the galaxy's most powerful Jedi Knight, turned into a machine to serve the Emperor after the Jedi betrayed the Republic. And I've seen him fight firsthand - I know what he can do. Even if he's not as powerful as they say, is it really worth your pride to find out?"

The silence continued for a little while longer. Finally, Ziha spoke up.

"What's your plan, engineer?"

"We _escape_. But it's not going to be easy. The _Halo Hammer_ is our only chance of getting off this planet - aside from the shuttle at the outpost, but the _Hammer_ is the only option close enough for us to feasibly make it. We have to move covertly, but still fast. Carth had our only comlink, so we can't communicate with the others…and it's likely they think we're dead now, so if they decide to leave, we'll be stuck here - with _him_."

Spidery limbs of fear tiptoed up Ziha's back.

"These plains are virtually flat, so we can't run or there's a good chance he'll see us. And we can't use a flare to signal the remaining crew, lest we risk attracting Vader, OR leading him to our only means of escape. And we sure as hell can't face him head-on."

"So, what – we're gonna _crawl_ our way back to the ship? They'll be long gone before we get there."

"Do you have a better idea?"

If Ziha _did_ have a better idea, he certainly didn't share it.

"I know it's a long shot, okay? But it's our smartest – no, our _only_ chance at getting back. We don't have to crawl, per se – just stay low enough to be covered by the grass. I'm also going to shift a few meters or so to the right so we're not making so much noise together. Remember, no lights, no sound, no sudden movements…also, stay low, don't get turned around, and no matter what happens, _don't run_."

Ziha nodded, and Argo began shifting off to the side, but suddenly stopped. A spark of fear pinged Ziha's skull – _he must see Vader_. Argo slowly turned his head back.

"One more thing…you can't keep using those gloves. They're wreaking havoc on your body. Your vitals were going crazy during our diagnostics, and it almost looked like you were going to lose your sight. I had to take off the gloves to analyze them…I saw your hands. You've got to stop."

"I've got it under control," Ziha growled defensively. "They just need a few tweaks."

"Well, you better make those tweaks before you use them again. The tech you made for those gloves shows me that you're brilliant, but one thing about brilliance is that if you're not careful, it can blind you."

After a final nod of acknowledgement, Argo shuffled away into the grass, out of sight.

* * *

"I think that was the last tweak, Fifteen. They're finally ready!"

Ziha removed his goggles – goggles that once dwarfed his face as a child, now barely fitting on his face as a young adult. The circuitry draped across the hand-shaped molds in his lab might have looked like mere cobwebs to the plebian eye, but Ziha knew he was looking at his future – at a chance to finally become great. MD-15 – Ziha's repurposed medical droid turned lab assistant - helped him gingerly slide a pair of black gloves over his work, and then the painstaking process of unifying the two began. It took Ziha about two more hours of staring through his lenses, making surgical adjustments until the touch sensors were fully functional and every loop was closed. Satisfied, he attached the palm-sized power cells to the gloves, aiming them at a small block of magnetized durasteel that was situated on a metal workbench, in front of a large sheet of rubber.

Ziha slipped a welding mask over his face. "Stand clear Fifteen – I don't want you to catch any potential crossfire."

The droid obliged him, shifting its black body behind his master.

"Clear, Master Ridal," MD-15's metallic voice relayed.

"Alright – in 3…2…1…now!"

Once Ziha toggled the connecting switch, the display of power that ensued was magnificent. Pure, raw electricity sprayed from the gloves, immediately funneling towards the block of steel. He could see the metal superheating, softening under the current. When Ziha released the button, the gray block had become a red oblong shape, and there was a slight bow in the table where it was sitting. A childlike joy spread through his insides.

"YES! Yes, Fifteen – it WORKS!" he shouted in triumph, tossing his welding mask to the side.

"Extraordinary work, master – you've done it!"

" _We've_ done it – there's no way I could have figured out the micro-circuitry so quickly without your ingenuity. You've done a great thing, helping me with this."

"It is why I'm here, Master," MD-15 chirped. The droid made his way over to the power cells, which were glowing as brightly as the block of durasteel they had helped to heat. "It looks like there's a need for a tremendous amount of cooling before the gloves can be cleared for personal use."

"Nonsense!" Ridal said defiantly. "That test was well over half of the max capacity for output, and judging by how much the steel heated, I'm not going to need even half of _that_ on any natural sentient species. Remember, the goal is not to kill anyone - just scare the target with a little pain."

"Very good," Fifteen responded. "In that case, I'll create a kill switch that prevents overloading it past dangerous levels - to protect you."

"Perfect – thank you, my friend." Ziha began to clean up his workstation, pride beaming from him.

"Also master, I feel I should warn you once more…even with a failsafe in place, use of these devices by an organic life form will likely not be without a cost. I predict there will be considerable side effects, not to mention the unpredictable results of prolonged exposure to the - "

"I'll be careful – don't worry. I'm well aware of its volatility. Besides, it's never going to get _that_ out of hand. I'm not an actual Dark Lord, you know – I don't lose control of myself."

* * *

Sarna was losing control of herself. As she sat in the engineering compartment, head buried in her palms, memories of Rezon and Carth swirled around her mind's eye. Rezon was more talkative than Sarna cared for, but he had been there for her incessantly, and she had admittedly grown to care for him. Overrun by her grief, she refused to accept their demise as a reality – it couldn't have happened, especially not to Carth. After all she had seen him do – all he had survived – it was inconceivable that one man could have taken him down; in her mind, Carth was all but invincible. She imagined him out there with the unknown killer, feigning death until he had an opening to strike and take control again… _yes, that's it – he's not dead, just gravely injured. And he needs our help - NOW. Why haven't we already left? Kam seems more concerned with protecting that stupid cargo than -_

 _The cargo._

Sarna jumped out of her seat, brushing her tangled hair out of her eyes as she briskly walked toward the crew lounge, searching for Erim. Her search stopped her en route to the lounge - in the ring corridor – where Erim was kneeling down over the open floorboards. She had removed a storage unit from the compartment – one that must have belonged to her, as Sarna didn't recognize the unit or its contents. The top half of Erim's jumpsuit was peeled off, exposing a half-sleeve of bright tattoos on her right arm that started above her elbow and ran up her shoulder, into the cover of her vest.

Next to her, was the large briefcase – the "package" for Han Solo.

"What's in that case?" Sarna asked fervently, her eyes signaling down to it.

"I feel like that's hardly of concern now," Erim replied flatly, continuing her rummaging.

"Be that as it may," Sarna persisted, "you've been very secretive of its contents. Why is that?"

"The contents of the case is highly-sensitive," Erim said, as if reading a script. "Not only that, but the handling of it by you and your crew does not require that you know what's in it."

"Perhaps not," Sarna obliged. "But, given the circumstance – as you put it, it's 'hardly of concern now' – why do you still insist on not telling me?"

Erim abruptly stopped her search. She did not look at Sarna. "The gravity of our situation does not negate my direct orders to – "

"Is it because what's in it is the cause for all hell breaking loose – for whoever the hell is out there killing our men - my FRIENDS?"

NOW Erim was looking at her. "The only people who know what's in that briefcase are myself and my employer, and Solo's buyer. No one else."

"Then why not tell the middleman, too? Even if you don't trust _me_ , I feel like it's hardly out of the question to inform Captain Sivora."

"For the very reason you are attempting to incriminate me now." Erim's words dropped like a hammer as she stood up to face Sarna. "There can be no loose ends for information to escape."

Erim's blue eyes were unmoving, stark - emotionless. For one reason or another, the corporal's gaze involuntarily darted toward the briefcase again.

"You're thinking of taking it from me – of looking for yourself."

Sarna's blaster hand itched.

"Before you do something that would give me cause to kill you, allow me to grant you one tidbit of information, Corporal. The only way to open that case is by typing the decryption code into the keypad. You get one try to type it in correctly. If you fail, or attempt to do anything else to open the casebesides typing in the code, it will atomize itself. And you. Along with this ship."

Erim stepped closer to Sarna. Since they were already close, the threat rang clear.

"And I'm not telling you one single number of that code."

It was the most human Erim had sounded to her.

Sarna didn't think twice about her next reply.

"Then it leaves our ship. Now."

"That's hardly your call."

"I'm _making_ it."

A few moments of silence between went by, filled by the sounds of Jett and Sivora gathering their weapons. The two women refused to waver their position, their stubbornness rooting them deep into where they stood – literally and figuratively. Finally, Erim spoke the last words she would speak to Sarna Sereta.

"You can make that call when you're the captain of this ship. Until then, don't come back to me unless you're looking for a fight."

When Erim said 'fight,' it carried such an acrid tone that Sarna could practically feel the word punch her in the gut. But she wasn't scared. She had no reason to be. Luckily for this overconfident bitch, she had bigger concerns – namely, she had friends to save. And with that, Sarna continued down the corridor to find her captain.

* * *

Ziha was seconds from a heart attack. His paranoia increased with each inch they shuffled forward. Every sound he heard – every brush of the wind was Vader in his mind, coming to cut him down or torture him into oblivion. He didn't know exactly what happened to Carth back there, but in some ways, not knowing made his anxiety worse. He knew the ship stood in the distance – a tantalizing beacon of hope at best – but now that the fire from the crash site had faded, there was no way for him to see it – to see _anything_.

They were crawling through pure darkness.

Ziha moved blindly and slowly, at a pitiful pace. With each movement came the fear that it was too loud or too quick. And no matter for how long he slinked forward, the ship was never any closer. He imagined it moving further back as he neared toward it, forever preventing them from closing the gap to safety.

And then he heard a sound.

It was nothing living – not an animal or person - but very machine-like. Ziha's ears strained to make sense of it in the blackness, combing through years of engineering experience to draw some kind of correlation, but nothing surfaced.

 _Kohhhhhh puhrrrr…khhhohhhhh puhhrr…khhohhh puhrr…_

Part of Ziha wondered if he was just imagining it. The internal noise he was sifting through was beyond manageable at this point, between his pounding headache, likely concussion and probable ear damage from the multiple explosions. Perhaps he was just disoriented. Argo hadn't reacted in any way obvious, though Ziha could only just hear the engineer crawling through the grass. As Ziha's headache swelled in another wave of pain, the noise swelled in volume.

 _KOHHHH PHRRR…KCHOHHHHHH PUHHRR…KHOHHHH PUHRRRR…_

He longed to peek his head above the grass – to turn around and see where their attacker was, but he wouldn't dare risk being seen, plus he himself would have seen nothing. Ziha tried desperately to ignore the sound – to focus on something else – but in the silence of Vaal, it was all that existed, forcing itself into his mind. Vader had surely started his search for them – either that or he had seen their ship in the distance, their only means of escape. He wondered what would happen if Vader saw the ship; would he trot over to it, and kill the rest of the crew as well? Then Ziha's only means of escape would become yet another path to death.

 _KCHHHOHH PUHRRRR…KOHHHH PUHRR…KHOHH PUHRR…_

This time, Ziha was SURE it was getting louder. Frozen by fear, he dare not move another inch. He couldn't tell if Argo was still crawling, but prayed that he too had stopped, lest Ziha get left behind to this monster, this literal killing machine. If the noises were somehow Vader, moving might mean risking detection, but not moving would mean being left behind. Conflict ripped his insides apart, urging him to scream. Part of him hoped that Vader would notice the engineer first and choose to go after him instead _._ This thought prompted some relief – a dim light at the end of a long tunnel.

 _Maybe if he gets distracted with killing Argo, I could make a break for it. I could get away._

" _I can assure you, I am not so easily distracted._ "

Dread and fear exploded through Ziha's chest – a sickening mix of emotions. He whipped around in time to see the lightsaber ignite, lining the killer's face in red – rather, his _mask_. Vader wore a black helmet not unlike a stormtrooper's, yet its features were much more pronounced. The angles of the mouth grille were sharper, more menacing. He somehow appeared _less_ human than stormtroopers did.

And far more evil.

" _Your thoughts betray you_." Vader patronized, his vocoder-shaped voice booming with power. He sounded like a king who had caught a red-handed vandal. Ziha could feel himself trembling.

"Th-th-there are others. There is another HERE – I can show you where he is - "

" _I am aware of your comrade. You would do well not to turn on him so easily._ "

He glanced over to his right to see Argo beholding Vader, eyes wide with terror. Neither of them even tried to draw a weapon. It was pointless. They were at his mercy, or lack thereof.

" _Now, where is your ship_?"

* * *

Jett sat silently in the crew quarters, palming those familiar Adegan crystals as she considered the fate of the ill-destined search party Sivora had sought out. The severity of the situation crept over her like a dark shadow, and the cool sensation of the crystals was the only thing keeping that shadow from swallowing her whole. Rezon – the one person in the crew who seemed to have some sort of handle on himself – was gone now. She was sure of that, almost as if she had heard his final breaths through the comlink too. She thought about her talk with him on the _Hammer_ a couple of days before, and the impact of what he had said to her.

" _I know it may seem like the galaxy is against you,"_ he echoed in her head, " _but remember that people CAN be there for you – they can support you and provide a sense of understanding to you."_

Rezon had been there for her. He was but a stranger to her not long ago, but somehow had supported her desire for revenge, and provided a keen understanding to her innermost fears.

Now he was dead.

Just like Carth. Just like her parents, and all the others who had played a similar role for her.

Except for Kam. And how much did that really count for?

" _The fact that you still wrestle with wanting to kill Kam after all that he has caused you shows me that you have an enormous capacity for love – for those you care about."_

And look how her caring was rewarded: with loss, and pain.

" _The hard part here is understanding your pain, and not letting it define who you are. Otherwise you're allowing those who have scarred your past to continue damaging the life you have now."_

Jett became increasingly frustrated by the voice that had developed in her head. How could pain _not_ define who she was? Anybody would crumble under what she had suffered. Only a fool who hadn't a care for anyone could go through that kind of life without wanting revenge.

" _When you go and get those bastards out there that hurt others, you can do it without getting lost in your own demons."_

 _You can do it for the right reasons._

 _Go save the others._

Suddenly, Jett Elleon felt a huge mental shift. In that moment, she _knew_ that Ziha and Argo were alive. Not only that, but it was almost like she could feel them – practically _see_ where they were as she turned toward the direction of the crash. Despite the fact she was staring at the wall of the crew lounge, she _knew_ where they were, and knew they were in trouble.

Vader was with them.

She could feel his cold presence, as well as her own unnamed fears. Jett had yet to even lay eyes on him, and yet he had become this concept of dread, an icy specter hovering in her mind that brought with it chills from the void.

She could feel something else, too. Other presences drawing near the darkness of Vader, and his newest victims. She didn't know what they were or how many they were, but they were closing in.

Fast.

* * *

Time had slowed when Argo Cuneen heard Vader's horrible voice. For him, in moments of severe stress, time always seemed to come to a near-standstill. It was a phenomenon that he often used to his advantage when he would study for exams as a child, or when he evaded enemy capture in covert operations. And now he was using it to stare his executioner in the face. Part of him was furious that rat bastard Ziha would have sold him out for a chance at escape, but given the amount of fear he was feeling – that he _had_ felt about Darth Vader – he supposed he wasn't completely invulnerable to crumbling under that pressure either.

He knew Vader would kill them both, regardless of what they told him. Anything Ziha said at this point was just buying them time – time that was now expanding for Argo. Facing certain death, he became hyperaware of his surroundings in the nigh-pitch black darkness, only lit by the haunting lightsaber. He felt the last moments of cool evening air on his face, and the sweet smell of the prairie grass. And above the lightsaber's fearsome hum, another sound came from the masked man – a rhythmic chorus of mechanical air that pierced the veil of night with vivid horror.

Argo could hear something else, too: rustling in the grass – all around them.

Then he could hear the growls – a full chorus of them. He suddenly realized what was coming.

 _That lightsaber drew them here_.

Almost immediately, two snarling shadows leaped for Vader, latching onto his right forearm and left leg. Argo couldn't see them well, but he knew exactly what they were: hyenax, and starving ones at that. Vader threw the one attached to his forearm with tremendous strength, sending it tumbling into the sea of grass, but from that same sea of grass came several more, just as determined to tear him to pieces. They were so focused on Vader that it took them a few seconds before any of them noticed Argo and Ziha on the ground.

But soon, one of them did…then two, then four.

Argo noticed Ziha running away as he pulled out his secondary blaster. He caught one hyenax in the side, and another in its rear leg as it prepared to leap for him. But a third one leaped onto him, and his forearm against its neck was the only thing keeping its snapping maw from tearing away his cheek. His free hand snatched another sidearm from his belt, jamming the pistol in the creature's chin before firing. Argo felt the warm grey matter splatter from the new hole in the monster's skull, and then shoved the carcass to the side before sprinting away from Vader and the pack of ravenous felines. He dare not look back, but from the sound of it, there was a massive horde of hyenax making efforts to bring down the fearsome warrior that was Darth Vader. Argo then wondered exactly how much of Vader was flesh and bone, and if the creatures would bother with killing the cyborg after attempting to chew through hard armor. He could only hope that somehow, somewhere on that suit of blackness, there was a weakness.

But for now, he could only keep running as far as his legs would carry him.

* * *

Ziha had gotten a decent head start on Argo, but it wasn't going to last long; he knew the Sullustan was a mercenary, and probably in better physical shape than he was. In his desperation to see _something_ again, Ziha had turned on a light he grabbed from his belt; he normally abhorred blasters and thus rarely carried them on jobs, but for the first time, he wished he had one to defend himself. He was too afraid to use his lightning in such dire straits, considering that he still didn't know what caused him to faint on Atzerri. He anticipated that it was related to the intensity of the power it required to kill those men, and since he knew he was in a 'kill' scenario, the risk of trying again wasn't worth it – not until he could run some further tests in his lab…if he could ever make it back to his lab.

Ziha was huffing by the time the _Halo Hammer_ became visible, but the sight of the ship was enough to spark a renewed vigor in him. He picked up his pace, closing the distance as fast he could – _no such thing as 'too fast' now!_ Relief washed over him like a glorious rain of mercy as he made his way out of the wretched grass, and onto the cleared landing zone. Relishing the ease of being able to move his legs again, he trotted to the _Halo Hammer_ and began climbing the boarding ramp, toward the darkness inside. Jett was the first one to rush out from the ring corridor. Ziha watched her eyes find him, then search the void behind him.

"Where's Argo?" she asked him. "What happened?"

"Vader," Ziha panted through his exhaustion. "Start the ship…we've got to get out of here…"

The name _Vader_ seemed to strike Jett with a strange ring, but it didn't distract her for long.

"We're not leaving here until Argo is back. He was with you, wasn't he?"

"He was, but Vader got him…I'm the only one left…now let's get out of here!"

Ziha stumbled up the ramp, but Jett barred his entry, still looking out into the void.

"Foolish child," Ziha growled. "Get out of my way!"

He went to shove her, but Jett grabbed his forearm before he could move her. He could feel her grip touching the power cell against his wrist, and anxiety shocked his brain. The captain and corporal came running to the entryway, and his anxiety dissipated.

The captain was surprised to see him. "Ziha – you survived. Our assailant is dead?"

"No – he's still out there," Ziha panted. "I was the only survivor. Listen, we've got to get –"

"Woah woah, I don't understand – you didn't _fight_ him?" Sivora's eyebrows and tone both raised.

"I couldn't fight him – I was incapacitated –"

"So you decided to RUN?" Sarna blurted out, emerging from behind Sivora. "You left my friends to DIE?!"

Ziha felt shame growing inside him, but he fought it down. "No, it wasn't like _that_ – I WANTED to fight him –"

"Then either you would have killed him or died trying," Sarna interrupted again. "That's your JOB!"

"To hell with the goddamn _job_!" Ziha roared, fed up with her disrespect. "That bastard had a lightsaber and deflected every _fucking_ shot that was thrown at him. He survived an explosion at POINT BLANK RANGE! He is a REAL Sith Lord!"

Oops.

"What do you mean, a 'real' Sith Lord?" the captain questioned, latching onto Ziha's Freudian slip. In this moment, the transporter Erim Getchell walked up behind Jett. Ziha realized for the first time since walking up to the _Hammer_ that he was outnumbered four to one.

Jett looked upon him, appearing to ponder something. "You're not really a Sith, are you?"

Ziha was too rattled – too mentally mixed up to answer quickly. By the time he responded with an angry "Of course I am, you brat!" he knew it was a lost cause.

"But I don't understand. How could you have done what you did in the starport without any powers?"

Ziha tried to maintain some form of dignity. "Power comes in many forms, child."

"Apparently not, if you couldn't face whoever killed those men," Jett fired back. "You're a fraud, then."

He sure felt like one in this moment. The shame he had tried to ignore was now taking him over.

"God- _damnit_ ," Sivora exclaimed, slamming his fist on the hull. "Your lies cost me good men – good PEOPLE!"

"I could have taken him!" Ziha pleaded for the respect he could feel slipping. "I was caught off-guard, disoriented by the explosion and earlier –"

"You had no better of a chance than they did out there." Sivora handed down his words like a death sentence. "The only difference between you and them is that you _ran_."

"And now they're all dead because of that," Sarna added in.

He could feel them turning on him by the second.

Amidst the quarrel, Jett continued to gaze out into the void, apparently distracted. "I don't think they're _all_ dead yet…I think Argo is still alive. If there's a chance he is, we have to go save him!"

The captain's gaze stayed on Ziha. "Is this true? Is Argo still out there?"

Again, Ziha couldn't respond fast enough…but this time, he didn't even bother answering.

"You _left him behind?_ " Sarna looked as though she might shoot Ziha right now.

"No – there was a pack of hyenax that attacked Vader, and we made a break for it."

Again, hearing Vader's name seemed to somehow ping Jett's interest.

"Then he IS still out there," Sivora realized. "Gather every kind of weapon you can carry – Vader or not, we're going to save our man, and then we're out of here. We're done on this planet."

"You can't go out there," Ziha began. "He'll kill all of you – he's unlike anything I've ever seen!"

"Maybe so," Sivora responded. "But if he's as powerful as you claim, I can't leave Argo to face him alone."

"Perhaps we should leave HIM behind," Sarna suggested, drawing her pistol on Ziha. The four of them looked down upon him, now a weakened shell of his former confident glory. "Let this 'Vader' deal with him."

"Please – you can't leave me here with that, that _thing_ out there! Please – I'll do anything!"

"You know something, Ziha?" Sivora said. "Sith or not, the worst thing about you isn't that you have no powers…it's that you have no _honor_. Sarna, stand guard on the ramp until we come back and are ready to go. If he tries to come into the ship, light him up."

Captain Sivora and the others marched up the ramp, leaving Ziha at the foot of it with nothing but Sarna's fierce gaze and her pistol aimed at his head.

Ziha Ridal was now trapped in the bottomless pit of self-loathing. He had lost his allies in the _Hammer's_ crew. He had also lost something much more important: his sense of pride, and thus self. He slumped to the ground, resigned to his position.

"Maybe I should kill you anyway," Sarna growled at a volume just loud enough for him to hear. "I can tell them you made a move – who are they gonna believe? Me, or the _traitor_?"

Anger gave him a small second wind. _Maybe I should kill HER first. I'm as good as dead, anyway._

"While I ponder this, don't you DARE make a move," she barked. "If you do, it will be your last."

Ziha believed her fully. But when he heard rustling in the grass, he instinctively whipped around.

* * *

Jett knew the name "Vader." She had heard it before, and something told her he was in close connection to the Empire…but she couldn't quite remember how or when she first heard of him, and every time she searched her thoughts for more, there was nothing but mental fog. Pacing the ring corridor, she relentlessly thought through years of memories. _Perhaps he was some sort of Imperial commander?_ She pondered the possibility of capturing or killing him… _if this guy's important, it could be a serious blow to the Empire._

But then she remembered how dangerous he was – what he had done to Carth and Rezon, and how Ziha apparently feared his skills. If he was truly that good, there was little chance of them bringing him down. _How can we do this?_

In her internal debate, she remembered Rezon's words - words that somehow had cemented themselves into her brain. _"You can do it without getting lost in your own demons,"_ the voice echoed. And it was right – Yavin 4 wasn't far, and if they could get off this planet quickly enough to leave Vader stranded here, that might be enough time to bring the Rebel Alliance here to capture him. _IF the Rebel Alliance really is on Yavin 4_ – Jett had only heard rumors, and despite the fact she felt them to be true, they were only rumors.

Deciding she had packed every weapon she could reasonably carry, she tossed the shoulder strap of her trusted A180 over her head and made her way down the ring corridor. As she stepped down the boarding ramp, she heard rustling in the grass and immediately grabbed for her rifle, but when she looked down its scope, she saw something she didn't expect.

It was Argo Cuneen, running full speed toward them, his light bouncing in front of him. _He IS alive!_ Relief warmed her heart - their rescue mission was over before it started. Thankful to see the quiet engineer, she lowered her rifle…but then she noticed that something was chasing him.

There was a dim red light in the distance.

She felt the cold again.

"START THE SHIP!" Argo screamed, not stopping his sprinting stride.

"It's Vader – he's _here_!" Ziha wailed. Despite their clear distress, Sarna did not put down the blaster aimed at the false Sith's head; instead, she merely stared past Argo in a frozen gaze, trying to make sense of the red aura from afar. It was sword-shaped, and thirty meters away, closing in steadily – not quickly, but indeed deliberately. The light from it was a morose beacon in an inert sea of silence. Jett could barely make out a figure behind the glow before a strong feeling of iciness washed over her body. She felt like she had been dunked into a freezing bacta tank.

 _It's him – LORD Vader._ She had suddenly remembered where she heard his name.

"GET ON THE GODDAMN SHIP, YOU FOOLS!" Argo yelled, furious at their inaction. He finally crossed the threshold of the wide landing zone; and slipped – he had gotten used to running through the grass. His boots scrambled for traction in the dirt, frantically trying to close the gap to the boarding ramp. It was at that moment that Vader, still twenty meters away, tossed his blade – his _lightsaber_ – toward the ground. Initially, Jett thought Vader was frustrated with not catching his victim and had thrown his weapon in a manic fit…but the blade somehow did not touch the ground. Instead, it spun tightly and progressed in a low beeline, slicing through the grass effortlessly as if clearing a path for its owner. She watched it pass the threshold of the landing zone, heading straight for Argo before she realized what he had done.

 _Holy shit…he AIMED that throw._

Time slowed down for Jett, but even then, there was nothing she could do. She could only watch as the lightsaber blade caught up with Argo, praying he somehow could run _faster_ or avoid his fate. But it soon closed the gap and passed through him with a brief _sizzle_. Argo's upper body kept traveling, but his legs stayed where they were, severed above the kneecaps. Its task completed, the lightsaber boomeranged back to its master, who caught it without a sound as the maimed Sullustan cried out in shock and terror. Seeing this, Sarna immediately opened fire, but the possessed blade easily deflected her bolts until the blaster was mysteriously snatched from her hand, seemingly drawn to Vader's presence. He cut her weapon into sparks with one fell swoop, continuing a steady executioner's march that was made even slower by Jett's current perception. Sivora ran out in response to the blasters; the captain was ready to fire, but his weapon was also ripped away by the invisible hand of fate, met quickly by Vader's laser sword and reduced to molten slag. Jett couldn't even draw her own weapon – she was too terrified, too gridlocked by the sight of the fearsome specter. Not that it would have mattered.

With a mixture of horror and sickening terror, the worst sight for Jett Elleon to behold was that of Argo Cuneen. He was now pushing his palms against the dirt, legs still cauterizing as he desperately tried to make it closer to the _Hammer_ , eyes on his attacker. It was not the violence in Argo's dismemberment that most terrified Jett, but rather the fact that despite losing both his legs and likely being in excruciating pain, the terror in the young engineer's eyes made clear his only thought:

That he HAD to get away from Lord Vader.

But it was too late to get away now.

 _Lord Vader is here._


	4. Act IV: To the Last Man

**ACT IV: To the Last Man**

Imperial Commander Kam Bucca Sivora sat in the family room of the Elleons' home. Across from him sat Jacen Elleon, his sharp hazel eyes glinting with affection - he always loved when Kam would come to visit him. It was a beautifully warm day on the planet, so the windows were open to allow in the gorgeous summer weather. Sunlight bathed the tan walls and mocha-colored furniture, giving the room a calm, glowing warmth – warmth that was matched by the smile of Jacen Elleon. After all this time, his grin was still larger than life itself.

"So, what's the haps with the ol' Empire now?" Jacen said with his booming voice. "Still reigning supreme over the galaxy?" Jacen always teased Kam about the Empire when he visited, but Kam didn't mind; in a way, it was refreshing, considering some worlds' opinions on the Empire.

"Not 'reigning supreme,' Jace – just trying to maintain peace and order," Kam would always say in response. In some ways, this had become their way of greeting each other, a means of rekindling their friendship after long periods without speaking – it wasn't often that Kam could visit. Duty called him all over the galaxy…but hopefully, that would soon change.

"From what I hear, that may be different soon," Jacen replied. "I hear of some new enforcer the Emperor has running around – they call him 'Lord Vader.' Say he's some mad cyborg who's murdering anybody daring to even disagree with the new way of things."

"Ohhh, nonsense. That's all liberal media hype, Jace – you know how that game goes," Kam dismissed. "Peace and order can't be maintained through force. I think the Emperor is smart enough to know that. After all, he was smart enough to somehow survive an attack from the _Jedi Council_ – a man with no Force sensitivity to speak of!" He marveled at the mere thought of such a feat – he had seen mere Jedi Knights perform impeccably in battle, and they were nothing compared to Jedi Masters. How could one man have overcome such an impossible situation?

"Perhaps so, perhaps so," Jacen replied, combing through his short beard with his fingers.

After a few seconds of silence, Kam remembered why he had paid his friends a visit in the first place. "I've put in a request to be assigned long-term to Corellia," he revealed. As he broke the news, Kira Elleon walked into the room, with five-year-old Jett close behind her.

"So I'll have to deal with you being here on a regular basis now?" Jacen ribbed, still grinning wide.

"Unfortunately, yes – you will," Kam replied with a grin of his own. "Unless 'Lord Vader' decides to give me the ax for showing up late yesterday," he added with a sly smirk, winking at Jacen.

"Do you really think it's possible they'll hear your request?" Kira asked, sitting next to her husband. Their child Jett was now playing with some fabric dolls on the floor, miming out a scene.

"I don't see why not," Kam shrugged. "I think I've been doing a decent enough job with my unit out on Duros, though nothing much has really been going on out there. I think I made a pretty solid argument to Colonel Leed about me being more useful someplace a little more…active. They're still some worlds that are reacting in chaos to the new order, but it's nothing like our days in the Republic."

"I don't think anything will ever be quite like that, my dear friend," Jacen beamed.

Not long ago, Jacen had been a soldier and longtime comrade of Kam, but he had since retired from the military life after meeting his now-wife Kira during a stint on Corellia, where they had chosen to stay. Kam was sad to see his friends in the unit go their separate ways in the galaxy; he couldn't think of the last time he had even spoken to Sarna Sereta or Carth Torpoli, never mind _seeing_ them. While pondering this, Kam glanced over at Jett, who was happily playing, her laughter bathing his ears. Four of her dolls were all standing upright while a fifth stayed in her hand, seemingly handing down orders to the other dolls.

"Has Sarna ever come through your village, by chance?" Kam asked the couple.

"Last thing I heard, she was stationed on Sullust doing security details for the mines," Kira told him with a shrug. "But that was at least a year ago."

" _Security?_ " Kam was incredulous. "Seems a little low for her – she clearly has what it takes to be an amazing field officer."

"That's not how her C.O. saw it," Kira sighed. "But she seems hopeful that she can work her way up, and I believe her. Sarna is a gifted woman with a lot of work ethic – she'll climb the ranks."

"Right – absolutely, she will," Kam concurred. He saw no logical reason that Sarna wouldn't be commanding _him_ someday – she was both the greatest soldier and logistics officer he had ever known personally. Kam peered down at Jett again, who was still preoccupied with her game of make-believe. He was amazed that the soft dolls hadn't collapsed over yet – they were still rigid in their stances. Kam _swore_ he could see one of the dolls floating –

"Jett honey, why don't you come say hello to our guest?" Jacen called for his daughter. "You remember Mommy and Daddy's friend Kam, right?"

Jett's attention was broken, and at that moment, the dolls fell over. The young girl looked across the room at Kam through the corner of her eyes, too bashful to face him. He giggled to himself at the child's shyness.

"Oh, come on Jett – don't be cheeky now," Kira coaxed. "You've met him before!"

"I think she just needs a little reminder," Kam added in, his voice light and friendly. He walked up to Jett, holding behind his back the toy speeder bike he had bought to surprise her.

* * *

Jett Elleon was standing at the foot of the boarding ramp, as a frigid sense of emotional emptiness was enveloping her. Lord Vader had inexplicably stopped his onslaught after disarming Sivora; his red saber cast a dim red glow around him, making his ghostlike appearance even starker in the darkness of Vaal. Everyone seemed too afraid to move – even to help treat Argo's horrific wounds; though the group clearly had Vader outnumbered, previous actions had made his power clear. No one dared to move, lest they see what else he was capable of.

For a few seconds, the only sounds were Argo's stifled cries and the drone of Lord Vader's lightsaber, along with a rhythmic mechanical sound that Jett assumed was his machine of a body performing its functions. It sounded like a howling ghost trapped in a machine...it sounded like artificial breathing.

 _KHHOHH PUHRR…KHOHHHH PHRRR…KHOHH PUHRR…_

When Vader finally spoke, Jett recognized the robotic, regal timbre she heard in the comlink.

" _Colonel Sivora_ ," Lord Vader's voice announced. " _I see retirement has brought you to…interesting new places_."

Jett's head snapped toward Sivora. _He KNOWS this monster?_ But Kam seemed just as surprised to hear his name come from Vader's mouth. _If he even has a real mouth_.

"You must be Lord Vader," Sivora said, maintaining diplomacy. "I don't believe we've ever actually met – how do you know me?"

" _The Emperor knew of your role in stifling the Corellian Resistance. He was most pleased by your actions."_

Rage was beginning to simmer inside of Jett – for Sivora, for Vader, and for her family's death; she felt her hands ball into tight fists, and the iciness she was feeling dissipated. She noticed Sarna's head jerk up towards Kam with surprise, but he had nothing to say in response.

" _You have something I am in need of,"_ Vader went on, his tone unwavering.

Now Jett was boiling. _No fucking way. He'd better not be talking about the fucking package._

"I'm not sure I understand?" Sivora maintained both diplomacy and ignorance.

" _Your ship."_

Vader pointed to it, and somehow right as he did, the lights on the _Halo Hammer_ flickered alight in an artificial blaze. Once Jett's eyes adjusted to the brightness, the horror of Vader's appearance was clear as day. If there were any part of him that was flesh and bone, it wasn't evident. He was covered head to toe in a full suit of black heavy armor, complete with a thick cape, a large utility belt and a helmet that echoed an eerie resemblance to a skull. The 'eyes' on the helmet – like his aura – were black and empty. He also seemed to have some sort of control panel on his chest that glowed with red and blue buttons. He reminded her of an ancient, evil warrior – like the ones she pictured in her mother's stories of the Sith Lords from ages past.

" _My ship has been critically damaged, and I am in need of transport back to Coruscant."_ He spoke like it was a normal evening - like he was just casually asking for a ride.

" _Though,"_ Vader continued, _"it seems you may have something else I am in need of…"_

Vader's saber deactivated, its blade retreating into the hilt. His helmet turned to face Jett, who was now overflowing with anger. Her vision was aflame, and her fear for Vader was gone.

" _Your mother's tales of the Sith are undoubtedly lacking perspective,"_ Vader continued, as if he somehow knew what she was thinking. _"I can sense the Force strong within you, child. What you are feeling right now – that raw anger – is the doorway to TRUE power. Channel your emotions – use the passion, and you will find freedom - the TRUE way of the Sith."_

Vader's helmet did not move when he spoke, and perhaps that was why Jett heard his voice all around her – like it was _inside_ her. She could feel everyone looking at her, watching her.

" _Come with me, and I can give you the power to complete the revenge you so desperately seek. Through the Force, you can accomplish all you desire."_

No one else was saying anything, seemingly spellbound by Vader's hypnotic prophecies. Jett couldn't speak - couldn't focus on anything besides that dead-eyed black mask. She was confused by his words, yet she felt the truth in them…and before long, she _knew_ them to be true. She had seen what he had done with such little effort – imagine what SHE could do if she really understood the Force.

" _Good_ ," Vader responded to her thoughts, deactivating his saber. _"You recognize true power when you see it. That same power is inside you. Give in to your feelings – surrender to the Force. It will show you the path to victory."_

Jett Elleon DID give in to her feelings. It was a process she had known for so long – ever since she first felt that spark of righteous anger in her heart – the spark that fueled her fire of revenge for years. She imagined herself on Corellia the day her village burned down, lifting stormtroopers in the air with her mind, crushing their weapons, their tanks, and their windpipes. She imagined raw electricity at her fingertips, and her eyes alight with auras of magma and flame. These visions came to her so clearly that it felt as if she were back in time, righting the wrongs of her past, saving her family.

"Jett, what's going on? Are you okay?"

She heard Sivora's voice in the background, but only saw her visions – them, and the cold stare of Vader's mask. By a force of habit, she began to tumble the Adegan crystals in her pocket. The eternal essence of life and death that she had followed so long was all around her again, only this time, she felt she could _control_ it – move it, bend it, alter it to her will.

"Jett, talk to me – what's happening?"

This time, when she heard Sivora, a volcanic wave of rage swept over her. She remembered what he had done to her – what he had done to her _family._

 _He is responsible for all of this – for the death of everyone I've ever cared about_.

" _Yes, child,"_ Vader praised. _"Show him the consequences of betraying you that he deserves."_

When Jett turned to face Kam Bucca Sivora, she no longer saw a man. Instead, she saw her suffering – her eternal plight with revenge and murder. Sivora spoke again.

"Oh, my God - your _eyes_ , what's happened to them? Jett! Je – "

His talking only angered her even further, and she wanted nothing more than to silence him. He began clawing at his throat – gasping for air – but that wasn't enough. She needed more. More.

"What are you doing to him?!" Sarna cried out, running toward Jett before another invisible force threw her to the ground – far away from Argo, and then seemingly pinning her in place. No else dared moved, and as the seconds passed, Kam's gasps were becoming more desperate – more constricted. Jett soon noticed his feet weren't touching the ground.

"Jett, you've got to stop this!" Ziha pleaded. "He's going to make you kill us all, then he'll kill you too!"

"Je-Jett," Kam choked, "I'm sorry. I'm s-s-sorry…" The shock and regret was clear, authentic.

But it was far too little, far too late for Jett Elleon.

Anger had fully taken over her mind.

She was going to kill him.

"KAM!" Sarna screamed, still held in place by Vader's power. "KAM, HOLD ON!"

Once Jett understood it was her invisible hand that was lifting Kam off the ground, she raised him higher – squeezed harder. He was beginning to struggle less, shake less violently. Sarna's screams of woe rang loudly in the silent night, blending with Argo and Ziha's pleads for her to stop. But she couldn't stop – not anymore. For too long, she had _chosen_ to stop – for the sake of her mother, for her sense of guilt, for her sense of good and evil. But now she understood there was no good and evil – there was only weakness and power.

And now _she_ would have power.

As Sarna's screams slowly transitioned into desperate sobs, Kam's consciousness began to slip, and his arms finally fell limp to his sides; he had given up his fight for life. Out of his left hand, something clicked against the boarding ramp, rolling down slightly before stopping. Jett couldn't help but gaze down at what he had dropped.

It was a toy. Rather, it was _her_ toy – a model speeder bike figurine that Kam had given her when she was a child, and had been one of her favorite possessions. She recognized the unique colors painted over it – something Jett had done when she was about nine or ten years old. The orange and yellow accents had since faded, but were still intentionally similar to those of the _Halo Hammer_. She had left it behind in the chaos of the raid – _how did he get it back?_

 _He came back to the village looking for me. And he's been carrying it around ever since._

This crack in her focus was enough to allow the voice of Rezon to come flooding back into her head. She finally realized what she was doing, and in horror released her Force grip on Kam. His body collapsed to the floor - like one of her lifeless dolls from her childhood that she now realized had been levitating, too. Jett sank to her knees, on the verge of emotional breakdown. Reality came rushing back to her – of who was hunting them, who had died and whom she had just strangled. Soon, she was sobbing into her jacket. Her cries drowned out all other sound in her ears, including Sarna's pleading whines to be freed – to come to her captain's aid.

" _Immensely powerful, but too broken to use your potential,"_ Vader's voice remarked. _"It is indeed a pity, Jett Elleon_."

Jett rose to her feet to look at Vader again. Hot tears were streaming down her face, but she no longer felt sorrow, anger, or fear when she looked at him. She felt something new: peace.

"I won't be a slave to my urges like you," she said, spitting on the ground. "I walk a different path."

" _One that leads you to death,"_ Vader responded, raising his hand.

Jett felt Vader's hand constrict around her neck, despite the fact he was several meters away. She couldn't speak or fight against him, and the power she once held was seemingly not at her fingertips. There was no one left to save her – no escape from this execution. The invisible hand gripped tighter, and her airway was completely shut. Her vision was beginning to get blurry, and all that remained was that terrible mask -

 _PTSHEW!_

A blaster bolt came from behind Jett – towards Vader's mask. He held up his left hand, the palm of which caught the bolt in a shower of sparks. Jett collapsed to the ground, gasping unabatedly for air. The blaster bolt had distracted Vader, but when the smoke cleared, his hand was not damaged in the slightest. Amidst Jett's heaving coughs, the clomp of boots going past her on the boarding ramp hammered against her throbbing skull, and when she could finally look up, she saw who had fired.

"I, Erim Getchell, of the Mandallia system, of Clan Getchell and House Vizsla, challenge you to single combat."

* * *

Still gasping for air, Jett could only see the back of Erim Getchell, which now bore a jetpack strapped over her blue jumpsuit; the jetpack had striking, bright colors painted across it in sharp patterns – not dissimilar from the _Halo Hammer_ 's color scheme. She also appeared to be wearing gauntlets of some kind, in addition to other armor underneath her suit. She was dual wielding her blaster pistols.

" _A Mandalorian warrior,"_ Vader announced, igniting his lightsaber. _"And a bold one, at that._ "

"Jett, get the others inside," Erim ordered, looking back at her. "I'm gonna kill this _Jedi_ bastard."

" _I have become something far more powerful than a Jedi."_

"We have a saying for you in Mando'a," Erim said, walking closer. " ' _Ori'buyce, kih'kovid_.'

"It means, 'all helmet, no head.' "

The jetpack roared to life, along with Erim's twin blasters. Vader swatted her bolts away effortlessly, but Erim kept up a steady stream of blasts as she circled the perimeter, far from the reach of Vader and his lightsaber. Jett began to drag Sivora's body inside, but stopped when she noticed yet another blaster aimed at her forehead. When she looked up, Sarna Sereta was the one behind the blaster.

"DROP him, you bitch!" the corporal shouted.

"Are we seriously doing this right now?!" Jett screamed, furious all over again. "He needs medical help – away from the fight!"

"And _I'll_ be the one giving him that help!" Sarna yelled. "But you can get the _fuck_ off our ship, unless you want to be executed!"

"We don't have time for this!" Ziha shouted. "We've got to get out of here!"

"NEITHER of you are getting on my ship!" Sarna bellowed. "You're lucky I haven't killed you both!"

This was ludicrous. Sarna's protectiveness of Sivora was keeping the group outside, next to a live firefight. Erim was swooping like a raptor, alternating between blaster fire and sonic repulsors that kept Vader's assault honest. Realizing this impasse was going to cost everyone his or her lives, Jett's anger began to take over again. She imagined crushing Sarna's skull with her bare hands –

No. She wouldn't let it take over - not this time. She had to find another way.

"Fine!" Jett yelled over the blaster fire. "Good luck saving both of them _all alone_ , without a medic!"

Jett hopped off the boarding ramp to find cover from the fight; Ziha followed her, seemingly out of ideas while Sarna tried to hoist up the now-unconscious Argo onto the boarding ramp. She ran far enough away to feel safe from the fight, and ducked down to watch it unfold. Eventually, Ziha caught up to her and knelt down in the tall grass, very much out of breath.

"Shouldn't we help her?" Ziha yelled over the fighting, eyes trained on Erim's dodging form.

"If we do, you'll be the _last_ one to actually be of any help," Jett remarked snidely. "We need to find another way off this planet, and since we're both out of a ride, it'd probably be smart to stick together."

Ziha didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the firefight about thirty meters away. Jett saw a rocket fly from Erim's jetpack, and they both ducked down as they heard it explode in the distance. Raising their heads, they saw Vader unharmed and apparently unfazed – the rocket had somehow missed him, landing far away from its target.

"That battle is over both our heads, Ziha – you know that already," Jett told him. "There is no chance that we could take Vader down, even on our best day. How would we fare if we were unprepared, and without heavy weapons or a ship – like we are now?"

He remained silent for a while, as the roar of a flamethrower echoed through the night. Curious, Jett picked up her A180 rifle and looked through the magnified scope; she could see Erim's gauntlet projecting a blazing inferno – one that Vader was somehow _repelling_ with an outstretched hand, as if he had a large invisible shield. The result was a rapidly spreading bunch of small brushfires that would surely grow bigger. If Jett weren't so horrified, she'd be astonished by what Vader was capable of – he seemed nigh invincible.

"See what I mean?" Jett said, signaling to the feat as she put down her weapon. "Who can stop THAT? Maybe _someone_ can, but that 'someone' ain't either of us."

Ziha looked down to his palms for a second, but his view switched when he heard the flamethrower stop. Erim seemed to be floating in place midair, unmoving as Vader stood there with an outstretched hand. Jett looked through the scope of her rifle again, and saw Erim struggling in a way that Kam had struggled a few minutes prior.

"He's choking her out!" Jett shouted, to no response. When she put down her rifle, she noticed that Ziha was not next to her anymore. Instead, she saw his robed figure hustling toward the burning prairie grass.

* * *

Sarna was all but panicking as she hoisted her captain onto one of the beds in the crew lounge. After closing up the boarding ramp, she ran back to check on him again. He was barely conscious, and still disoriented. Argo had passed out from shock, but was still breathing; she had covered him a blanket, electing to keep him on the floor.

"Sarna…" Sivora gasped weakly. "Sarna…where's Jett?"

"Gone, sir. She abandoned us after she tried to kill you. Said she'd rather find her own way to Yavin 4, and took Ziha with her." Sarna's hands instinctively went for her hair. "Erim is outside fighting Vader now, but we don't have much time to escape."

"Those blasters...that armor…she's a Mandalorian."

"Seems that way," Sarna concluded. "Everyone here is just full of surprises. You stay here and rest, Captain – I'm going to prepare the ship for takeoff."

"We can't leave Erim here…" Sivora whispered. "Vader will kill her."

Sarna appeared to give this comment thought for a few seconds, then told her captain a lie.

"Don't worry, sir. I won't leave here without her. You stay here - I'll be right back."

She ran off through the ring corridor, headed for the cockpit. Sitting down in the pilot's seat, she began the routine preparations for takeoff, trying to keep her hands from trembling as she flipped the switches and pressed the controls. Sarna couldn't even process the madness that was happening around her. Vader was apparently a Jedi gone mad, and was manipulating Jett's seemingly untapped Force sensitivity to become the same as him. _How ironic_ , she thought, _that we hire an enforcer who pretended to be Force sensitive, and took in a stowaway who didn't even know she WAS Force sensitive. It's too bad that power will go to waste on that conniving little bitch_. Sarna was overcome with rage just thinking about Jett, and all of the chaos she had caused them. Sarna KNEW it would be a bad idea having all of these unexpected strangers join them – look at what they had caused! That cowardly false prophet Ziha had let her comrades die, and Sarna still wasn't convinced that Vader hadn't come for whatever was in Erim's case.

And now Jett had tried to kill Captain Sivora. If Sarna hadn't been so rattled by Vader, she would have strangled Jett to death herself.

But, she had hope that she would get another chance.

Behind her, Sarna heard someone walking down the hallway to the cockpit. Immediately drawing her blaster, she saw Captain Sivora limp into the doorway, his stance wobbly and unsure.

"Sarna, we can't leave Erim behind." Sivora spoke hoarsely, half-order, half-plea. "Betrayal has won this day ten times over already, and she may be the one who saves our lives – especially if she can at least incapacitate Vader."

Sarna heard an explosion outside, and felt an explosion happening in her mind. She was enraged, but she wouldn't take it out on Sivora. "Sir, if Vader kills her, he'll just storm the ship and take us out too! You saw what he could do! We can't risk it. If we leave now, there's a chance we can keep him stranded just long enough for us to inform the Rebel Alliance he's trapped here."

"If he knows that Imperial outpost is here, he'll just use their shuttle to escape anyway," Sivora reminded her. "Then Erim would have died for nothing."

"Except to save us!" Sarna cried, her voice breaking slightly. "Don't you see? She can't kill Vader, Kam. And if she really is a Mandalorian, she's never going to back down from the chance to best a Jedi in combat."

"Then that's her choice," he replied curtly. "And it's _our_ choice to either stay behind and help her escape if she defeats him, or leave her here to die alone, by Vader's blade. OR by execution from the Empire…even if she manages to steal that shuttle and get off Vaal, she will have just killed the Emperor's _right hand man_. She won't make it far on her own, Sarna. She NEEDS our help."

Sarna didn't know what to say anymore. Her posture was slouching in defeat.

"Look, I want to get the hell out of here as much as you do. But if she wins, the least we can do is make sure she avoids capture for killing Vader. Still, prepare the ship for take-off, and if she loses, God forbid, we can still escape! What's Vader gonna do – pull the ship out of the sky?"

* * *

Ziha Ridal didn't care about the odds. He didn't even care how stupid he was thinking that he could take on Vader. All that mattered to Ziha was being able to prove to the others and _himself_ that he was capable of this. All Ziha had ever wanted was to be a fighter like his brother Kabari, or even like his wretched father, despite what that man had done to his mother. No one ever cared about intelligence on his war-torn home of Balmorra – all they cared about was the ability to fight, especially after the Republic won the Clone Wars and ate his planet alive in the ensuing madness. And though Ziha was no fighter by nature, he was certainly a fighter in spirit, and today, that spirit had fully taken over.

His black robe billowed behind him as he hurriedly traipsed through the burning grass, feeling its heat all around him. Vader was still holding Erim midair, but was bringing her closer to him. Her blasters had dropped to the ground, and her jetpack was sputtering in refusal to work – Vader must have been squeezing her entire body. Ziha made it into the clearing, but Vader still hadn't even turned his head. It was clear Vader could sense him, and didn't perceive him as a threat.

Ziha Ridal had been underestimated for the last time.

Firing up his power cells, Ziha blasted Vader with a deadly ray of his gloves' energy. Upon its impact, Vader immediately dropped Erim's body with a thud, leaving her on the ground to cough profusely. The lighting coursed through the Sith warrior, making his skull visible through the mask – he was human, after all. NOW Vader was turning to face Ziha, as the control panel on Vader's chest blinked & flashed wildly. In response, Ziha drove his gloves up to full power, his adrenaline helping him resist the incredible burning he felt in his forearms. He didn't stop until Vader dropped down to one knee, lightsaber hitting the dirt as it deactivated. He could hear Vader's ragged breaths as the gloves wound their power cells down; the mechanical sounds of the armor had ceased, and the control panel on his chest was dark. The fearsome Sith was still alive, but clearly been weakened to a point nearing death. Sparks flew from his armor, and smoke billowed from its creases. The smell of burning circuitry was thick in the air. Ziha had been victorious.

Then came the searing pain.

Ziha dropped to his own knees and screamed in pure despair, his arms shaking uncontrollably. The coolant and insulation had kept his forearms from burning to a crisp, but he could certainly feel the raw pain of second-degree burns all over both arms. His fingers were white-hot tips of tortuous sensation, and now he could smell his own flesh burning. But all of that was secondary. He had actually taken down a Sith. And though he was probably useless in terms of fighting now, Erim was slowly recovering, and surely could finish him off. Vader's gasps for air were labored and loud, each time sounding like a horrible death rattle through a ragged curtain of scorched flesh. _Perhaps Erim won't need to finish him off,_ thought Ziha as the Mandalorian warrior got onto her feet, striding toward Vader with a renewed vigor. Whether or not a killing blow was needed, she was certainly going to deliver one.

But something strange was happening.

Vader's death rattles were growing longer, calmer, but were not stopping. He still had one hand on the ground keeping him from fully collapsing, but Ziha noticed his other hand opening and closing, over and over again…and before long, Ziha noticed that Vader's hand movements were _synchronized_ with his breath. He was using the Force to _breathe_.

"Erim, hurry!"

Ziha wailed desperately, still feeling the horrible pain in his arms, and wanting to put an end to this before it was too late. Erim broke into a charge, leaving her blasters behind and clenching her fists tightly. Ziha noticed the crushgaunts on her hands, and realized she wanted to bash his brains in – probably the only way to really make sure he was dead. But despite how quickly Erim was moving, in Ziha's mind, it was taking an eternity - she had landed far away from her attacker. Vader seemed to be coming to, and his right hand was now feeling for the lightsaber.

 _Please get there faster, please get there faster, please…_

Erim closed the gap with a murderous rage. She let out a scream as she used her stride to load up a hard punch in her right hand, aimed at Vader's helmet. But when she swung, his lightsaber ignited, and swung upwards to connect with her outstretched arm near the elbow.

* * *

Jett Elleon was running – away from the fight, away from Kam Bucca Sivora, away from that jealous bitch Sarna, away from everything. Her mind wanted to focus on it all at once, but as she ran, she concentrated on finding an escape. She remembered the Imperial outpost that Kam mentioned earlier, and though she had no means of finding it, she was determined to do so. Like she often did in times of peril, she had fixated on another mantra to keep her focused. _Outpost, shuttle, then escape – outpost, shuttle, then escape_. She tore through the infinite plains of prairie grass, running in pitch black without direction or understanding of where she was going as she heard a small boom of thunder overhead. The plains were flat for miles aside from the occasional tree, and the only light was that from the _Halo Hammer_ & the fire surrounding Erim's duel with Vader. As time went on and the expanse of prairie continued, her mind began to become distracted, and she was reminded of what had happened just a few minutes earlier – what she had done to Kam. She fought back tears, but couldn't help the slowing of her footfalls, eventually kneeling down to rest. The smell of coming rain hung in the air, and before long, Jett a drop land on the back of her head.

She had almost killed Sivora. Not only that, but she _would_ have if he hadn't pulled a piece of the past out of his pocket. The guilt would have been enough to destroy her if she didn't have the solace of what she had learned about herself – that she could never really live with killing Sivora, even in the spirit of avenging her loss. The only real way for her to feel whole again was for her to take charge of her destiny in the purest way possible, and choosing not to kill Sarna Sereta was the first step in that path. It was a small step, but she would take more – she was certain of that.

The more she thought about how powerful the Force was, the more she realized that Vader was likely manipulating her lesser nature, feeding desires that were created by her horrible life. Perhaps that was what scared her so much about Vader – some parts of him seemed to resonate with her so clearly. Jett imagined that Vader was probably not that much unlike her at one point. Maybe he lost something he needed as a child. Maybe he was a lost, broken person who sought to protect his loved ones & the innocent so much that it corrupted him. Or maybe he just needed to control everything, like Jett so often felt she needed to do. But those were only impulses, and any species that acted upon impulse was sure to become outdated, eventually replaced by those who could behave outside of their nature, and master their own fate.

Though Jett Elleon was more lost, alone and scared than she had ever been in her life, for the first time in a while, she felt like SHE was the one in control. And that meant everything to her.

Holding onto the serenity of this new thought, Jett palmed the Adegan crystals in her jacket as the rain intensified. She tried to harness her newfound connection with the Force once more – this time for a different purpose. She listened to the chatter of the universe, and was surprised to feel energy all around her; even in the isolation of Vaal, the essence of existence flowed in cyclical pulses, in life and in death, peace and violence. Jett wasn't sure if it was because of what Vader had done or because the planet was so empty, but she could certainly sense things that were _further_ away, and with much higher clarity. She could sense the growing conflict of Vader and Erim, and Ziha's extraordinary suffering. She felt Sarna & Kam's uncertainty, and Argo hanging to his life by mere threads.

She could also feel three other lives, neutral and undisturbed, far off in the distance. _Are there other people on this planet? Kam said it was deserted aside from the –_

 _\- aside from the STORMTROOPERS._

Jett had found the outpost. It was at least five clicks away, but she had found it. Adjusting her direction, she ran towards the outpost in what was now a steady downpour, not looking back to notice that back towards the dying fire, the _Halo Hammer_ was taking off.

* * *

Something amazing had happened in front of Ziha Ridal's eyes when Vader swung his lightsaber. The bloodthirsty blade had met with Erim Getchell's arm, but her arm did not give way. Instead, she swatted the saber away, then tried a second time to punch Vader – this time, with her left arm. Vader spun his blade to take out her legs, but Erim turned her punch into a sideways roll – as if she had expectedhim to swing. Sure enough, her roll was punctuated with a sonic repulsor blast from her gauntlet that pushed Vader off-balance, allowing her to charge forward a second time.

What ensued next was a flurry of blows, as Erim guarded against Vader's targeted swings with her forearms, desperately fighting to break his defense of the control panel on his chest – his only clear weak point. Erim fought three steps ahead, stringing together chains of blocks as she neared her opponent with an unchecked persistence. She swept a kick then fired a repulsor blast – both of which Vader dodged – but in the process opened him up enough for her to clock him in the side of his face, exploiting his ironclad protection from body shots. But as she threw a second blow toward his sternum, Vader's lightsaber furiously batted her guarding arm so hard that Erim spun off her feet, landing face down in the dirt as he prepared to stab her dead. Her jetpack fired to life just in time to blast her a few meters – far from Vader's fatal strike as she pressed herself upright from the ground, letting out a furious scream as she charged again.

As the two traded blows for a second time, Ziha saw through the burning holes in Erim's jumpsuit that she was wearing vambraces on her arms – most likely phrik, the only material Ziha knew was durable enough to possibly withstand a lightsaber. Erim alternated between defense strikes until she saw another opening, this time sending a repulsor blast to Vader's torso that sent him flying back – far away from her, and much closer to a terrified Ziha; Vader was stunned, but seemingly unharmed. Still breathing that grotesque zombielike rattle, Vader slowly rose to his feet, his emotionless mask offering the same monstrous relentlessness as it did when they first saw him in the light, as the lightsaber hummed calmly in his grip. Erim was unfazed by Vader's lack of fatigue, pacing back and forth with palpable anger. Ziha soon noticed that rain had begun to fall; the occasional drop touched Vader's blade with a small _hiss_ as he stood there. He was breathing like a man drowning in fire, and yet he still was on his feet, determined to destroy his enemy. Neither of the two spoke. Each was seething with pure hatred as they stood meters apart, studying one another.

This time, Vader was the one charging, and it was now clear that he was _furious_.

The rain picked up with the duel, and a translucent curtain of water fell down in front of Ziha's eyes as he watched them fight. Vader was strong, and it was evident in his powerful blows that bashed against Erim's forearms, one after another with terrifying speed for a man his size. He moved like an impeccable warrior that might have been more nimble in his youth, but still had retained his sheer brutality. Erim fought like a vengeful wraith, pouring all her rage into each violent blow she took and each ferocious scream she bellowed. It was a gladiator fight for a reluctant audience of one, where the fighters in the ring decided the fate of the viewer. Cold rainwater poured over Ziha's head, matting his hair down to his skull as he sat there, helpless and praying for a miracle. Vader seemed to be gaining a quiet control, where Erim was boiling over with rage, longing to strike him again.

A particularly powerful blow swept Erim clean off her feet, and she wasn't getting up fast enough. Vader charged to deliver the kill shot again, but Ziha had seen the hit and already had his gloves fired up. He siphoned another wave of energy towards Vader, the pain in his arms twice as great as it had been the first time, but he had no choice – he _needed_ to take down this monster for good. Unfortunately, Vader was ready this time, catching the energy with his lightsaber and deflecting it in every direction to the shower of rain all around them. Ziha wailed in resistance to both his agony and Vader, determined to send the blade flying from the Sith Lord's hands with the sheer force of the electricity…but Vader held strong, closing the gap between them. A quick windmill spin of the saber sent a surge of energy back to Ziha that sparked his left hand with a dose of the current; Ziha let out a shocked wail, his assault ended. Another quick spin took Ziha's right arm clean off, and a blast of Vader's Force energy propelled him backward, his body landing limply in the wet grass.

 _PTSHEW! PTSHEW!_

A blaster bolt struck Vader's back, then his helmet. Sparks flew, and Ziha heard him growl with contemptuous fury before turning to deflect more incoming blaster bolts. Ziha was done fighting – for good this time – but his sacrifice had given Erim the time to recover, grabbing both of her blasters in the process. Even so, Vader was clearly getting strength back, and the longer Erim went without succeeding in killing him, the harder it was going to be. Ziha was sure she knew this, but also knew she couldn't risk being exposed to even one hit. That conflict was clear in Erim as she continued trying his defenses with bolt after bolt, until a deflected bolt hit her square in the chest. She cried out in shock, but was protected by her armor, and after a brief pause she fired twice more. When Vader deflected them both, they hit her _again_ \- one on her left shoulder, the other on her right.

 _Oh, no…he's toying with her._

Erim's anger was now subsiding for uncertainty. She was still pacing with the same energy, but now it was unclear if it was determination or nervousness. Vader stood still as a statue, and the only sound was his lightsaber, its tone a constant in the silence.

 _VrrmmmmMMMmmmMMmmmm…_

Ziha could feel Erim's window of opportunity closing. The ground was getting muddier by the second, and thus even riskier for her to try the complex movements she performed earlier. Ziha thought about that lightsaber – Vader's failsafe shield. Somehow, someway, she HAD to get it out of his hands.

Like Erim was reading Ziha's mind, she fired a grappling hook, aiming for the wrist of Vader's dueling arm. However, without a telegraph of any kind, Vader saw this coming, and grabbed the hook with his free hand, ripping Erim forward. A blast of her jetpack saved her from Vader's blade, but she twirled too wildly in the air to fire any shots at him. Landing in the muddy earth, she hopped up, now coupling blaster fire attacks with her forearm defense. The exchange was shorter this time, ending with Vader slicing one of her blasters in two and Force pushing her backward. She charged again with her forearms high, but Vader swung his blade into a downward strike so vicious that upon impact against her vambrace, she flew backward into the mud. Erim fired upon him while crawling away as he approached, now deflecting AND dodging her blaster bolts. His control panel reactivated with bright red and blue lights, and at that moment, Erim activated her jetpack to propel away from him.

But it was too late.

Vader seized her in a Force grip that stopped her midair, her blaster dropping in the thick mud. The weapon then flew towards the Sith Lord with great speed, and he cleaved it into oblivion with a quick swipe. Erim was now floating upright, frozen in place as she had attempted to elude his grasp. Soon, Vader's mechanical noises of compression started, solidifying the horror in Ziha's mind. _He's back to full power_.

 _KcchhHHOHHHH PUHRRRR…KCHHOHH PUHHRRR…_

"You fought like a true warrior," Vader's voice boomed, as if congratulating a student. "But, as the Mando'a saying goes, ' _verd ori'shya beskar'gam.'_

" ' _A warrior is more than his armor.' "_

The rainfall had extinguished the fires around them, leaving nothing but fading smoke. Ziha could still see Vader and Erim in the light of the _Halo Hammer_ , and had begun limping closer to them – a vain effort to rescue Erim, who hung in suspension, her tattered jumpsuit dirty with tan mud and dark blood. The rain continued to soak them, and as Ziha lumbered closer, he could see her last moments of life with jarring clarity. Her face was no longer stoic, but very much alive with rage as her body was writhing in desperation – desperation to survive, to kill. She couldn't move, but it was clear by her expression that if she could, she would still be swinging, fighting tooth and nail to bring Vader down. Erim's long blond hair was plastered to her head and shoulder's, but even still, Ziha could see her peach skin turning a shade of purple. She was not making any choking noises, which meant that Vader was compressing her entire body with immense pressure. He imagined her blue eyes flushing with red from bursting blood vessels, and soon his fears were confirmed when heard her sternum give way with a wet _thook_. Then, in an act of karmic mercy, her jetpack also gave way to the iron press of Vader's telekinetic vise grip, and the ensuing combustion blew Erim's body apart, killing her instantly with a brief flash of fire and gore.

Ziha vomited – half out of disgust, half out of desperate, animalistic fear. Vader had won the fight.

And he was the last man.

* * *

Sarna Sereta saw Erim Getchell rip to shreds savagely in an explosion, but she had already commenced liftoff when she saw Vader grab her with the Force a second time, knowing she was not going to get away again. Ziha had actually been brave, coming to her aid despite overwhelming odds, but he too had paid the price for his actions. As she lifted off, she looked to her captain in the copilot's seat, then back to Argo in one of the passenger seats, who had regained consciousness a few minutes earlier. None of them spoke as the _Hammer_ lifted off the ground in the spattering rain that pummeled them as mercilessly as Vader had slain the Mandalorian warrior Erim.

As they ascended skyward, their escape route back to Atzerri already plotted, Sarna's mind began to drift, weary from the day's events. Although Sarna had despised Erim and still partially believed she was responsible for the Sith coming after them, she couldn't help but feel a strong sympathy pain for her. Sarna Sereta knew what it felt like to fight your hardest – to do everything as perfectly as you possibly could – and still lose because the game was rigged from the start. She had been an exemplary marksman, a clever soldier and routinely outperformed her peers on multiple occasions, but still never excelled with the likes of those who admittedly knew they were her lesser. She technically wasn't even a corporal; Kam gave that rank to her unofficially, long after the Clone Wars. She had never gone higher than a specialist in the Republic OR the Empire, despite being a long-time veteran with elite PT scores, a diverse portfolio of skills and a mental tidiness that was only matched by the tidiness of her uniform.

There were always biases in the military, but when the Republic reformed, its replacement had become increasingly racist and sexist, not to mention humanocentric. Slowly but surely, instead of being surrounded by a variety of mixed races, species and genders, she was mostly around groups of young, fair-skinned men who came with their own views of the world. And those views did not include a powerful, determined, brown-skinned woman such as Sarna Sereta. Not unless it was in their carnal fantasies.

As Sarna contemplated this, she noticed their acceleration was decreasing, despite engaging further on the throttle. She shot an anxious look to Sivora. "We're good on fuel, right?"

"Definitely – we filled up before Atzerri, I'm sure of it. What's going on?"

"It says that we're slowing down…let me take a look." She jumped out of the pilot's seat to head for the engineering compartment –

"Wait!" Sivora cried. "Something's not right."

Argo chimed in – his first time speaking since he had lost his legs. "It says that the engines are still firing, but our velocity's down…it's like we're anchored into something."

"No way we could be anchored. Besides, we're at least a hundred meters off the deck." Sivora switched to the cameras inside the _Hammer_ , searching for obvious signs of error – a leak in the fuel, a gaping hole in the hull, a stalling engine, anything. It wasn't until he switched to the outside cameras that they saw something of note…and that 'something' was the lone crimson dot of Vader's lightsaber.

* * *

 _Son of a BITCH!_

"Full steam ahead, Sarna! NOW!" Sivora dashed from the cockpit in a hurry, heading to the gunner access compartment of the ship.

"What's going on?!" she shouted after him.

"If I'm right, a horrible twist of irony!" he called back. Once he got into the gunner's seat, he turned on the comlink between the two rooms.

"Sarna, Argo, talk to me – what's going on? Are we going full steam ahead?"

" _We're giving it full throttle, but we're not budging!_ " Argo wailed. " _The engines can't keep this up for long without overheating, Captain!_ "

"I think Vader is holding us in place. Turn the ship around so I can get a clear shot!"

" _Sir, there's NO way that one man could hold us –_ "

"HE'S NOT JUST A MAN, SARNA! Turn the ship around, goddamnit!"

Sarna complied, and the ship began rotating around until Sivora had his sights lined up. Arming the double laser cannons, he fired a shot.

But the blasters didn't fire. He tried again.

Still nothing.

"Argo, give me a diagnostic on the laser cannons!"

" _They should be good to go, sir! But the engines are on fire – if we keep this up, the_ Hammer _is dead in the air!_ "

Sivora tried again.

Nothing.

He tried repeatedly, pressing harder each time.

Nothing.

He slammed his fist on the control panel.

"Can we access the hyperdrive?"

" _The engines are too hot for that now! And even if we could, we'd definitely hit an asteroid before we made the jump to hyperspace!_ "

Sivora knew Argo was right. They were trapped like animals in a cage.

" _Sir, we're losing altitude - I think we're drifting back to the ground!_ "

And now Vader was reeling the cage in.

Sivora ran back to the cockpit, desperate for a solution. "I need ideas, guys – we're slowly being pulled to our death!"

"Is there NOTHING on this ship that can kill that guy?!" Sarna cried out.

"Not unless there's another Jedi smuggled in that case we were supposed to transport!" Argo responded.

"Wait a second..." Sarna seemed to have an idea. " _The case!_ " She ran off into the ring corridor; Sivora followed her after a few seconds delay, and found her in the ring corridor, digging in the floorboards. Alarms on the ship had started to blare in warning, shading Sarna's face in bright red with each flash of the alert.

"What are you looking for?!" Sivora shouted over the noise, his throat still sore from being Force choked.

"The _case_ – the package we were supposed to drop off here! Erim said that if you tried to open it without the correct code, it would cause an explosion big enough to destroy the ship!"

"And you _believed_ her?!"

"You got a better idea?!"

 _Not right now, I don't._ Eventually, she found the heavy case, and they carried it to the cockpit. They were still losing height, as well as gaining speed as they drifted toward the ground. Sivora hurried the case to Argo.

"Apparently, Erim told Sarna the package was rigged to explode if the wrong person tried to open it! How plausible is that, do you think?" Sivora asked Argo.

"If it's as sensitive of material as she claimed, I wouldn't be surprised," the engineer responded.

"Agreed, but how big of an explosive could fit in this case, considering there's sensitive cargo inside?"

"It's hard to say, but it could be pretty powerful. If she really _was_ a Mandalorian, it could be a new-age modified ACB – like the ones they used in the Sith Wars way back."

"An ACB – like an _atomic compression bomb_?"

"Improbable for sure, but possible!"

 _No way she was crazy enough to carry a small nuke around with her._

 _RIGHT?_

"I'd run some tests on it, but we don't have time for that!" Argo added. "And honestly, even if it _were_ an ACB, that wouldn't be the craziest thing I've seen today."

 _Fair enough._ Either way, Sivora had an idea. "We're not going to escape Vader on this ship, but maybe we don't have to. If he wants the _Halo Hammer_ so bad, I say let's give it to him. Argo, keep the engines hot as long as you can and buy us some time. Sarna, help me gather the one of the explosives cases! We don't have much time to fight - maybe another five minutes!"

They rushed to the engineering compartment, gathering the storage container full of detonators and trip mines then maneuvering it to the cockpit. Argo was waiting for them with heavy words.

"Guys, someone is going to have to stay behind to trigger this. And I think that's me."

Silence briefly settled over them, and the blaring alarms continued wailing.

"Nobody is being left behind!" Sivora exclaimed. "We either all get out of this together, or we all die together. I've had enough betrayal and abandonment today!"

"It's not betrayal, Kam – it's _logic_!" Argo screamed, just before pointing down to the cauterized stumps at his knees. "Look at me. I can't run, and there's no way in hell you guys can carry me all the way to the outpost without either Vader catching us or the hyenax ripping us apart. It would be _ludicrous_ to have you die when I'm giving you a CHANCE - a chance to make it out alive!"

Argo was frantic with emotion – Sivora had never seen him like this before.

"Kam, you have so much loyalty in your heart, and you think that the best way to be loyal to your friends is to never leave their side - no matter what. But sometimes, the most loyal thing you can do for someone is to _let them go_ – to trust they know what's best, and allow them to do what they must. And what I _must_ do is give you guys the chance to escape – for Rezon, and for myself."

Sivora hung his head, overwhelmed with emotion. He leaned his forehead against the wall, massaging his temples. " _No, no, no, no, NO!"_ he screamed, slamming his fist against the hull with each 'no.' Alarms rang in his ears, and his hand throbbed with pain. He knew there was no time.

"The engines can't fight at full capacity anymore!" Argo cried out. "Listen to me very carefully. I'm gonna lower the throttle just enough that the _Hammer_ doesn't speed madly to the ground, but you'll have to jump out while the ship is still descending - otherwise Vader will catch you when it touches down. My bet is that if you jump out and split up, he'll ignore you – the ship is what he wants. Once it lands, I'll shut the engines down, and he'll come to the cockpit…when he does – _boom_. You can decide on a meeting point and regroup when you see the fireworks. After that, you make your run for the Imperial outpost, and hijack their ship as quick as you can. Got it?"

Neither Sivora nor Sarna responded.

"GOT IT?"

"Yeah – we got it!" Sivora replied.

"And go find that girl!" Argo added. "I know what she did to you was horrible, but she's just a kid – a damaged, conflicted, scared kid. Get to her before Vader does, or _she_ might be the one wearing that mask someday."

Sivora nodded. He and Sarna gathered a few weapons then turned to look at Argo Cuneen one last time, still holding the helm steady. The Sullustan flipped a control switch, and Sivora heard the roar of turbulent air outside as the boarding ramp opened up.

"One more thing," Argo said, turning his head to face them. "I heard you guys talking about Ziha earlier when I was waking up. He didn't run from Vader - not until I stopped him. He was an idiot, and a little arrogant, but I don't think he was a coward or a traitor. In the end, he had our back."

Again, the two soldiers were silent.

"Good luck out there, friends!"

Sivora saluted, and headed down the hallway, Sarna right behind him. Sivora's heart was bursting with sorrow, sore with regret for what he was doing. But there was no time to debate, and this was the only clear choice he could make. Standing at the edge of the boarding ramp, he could just barely see the fast-moving ground of Vaal – soil he never thought he would have to touch again in his life. Praying this was the last time, he waited until the ground was about a meter away, and jumped out, tucking into a ball and aiming his back toward the ground.

The impact was a bitch. He rolled with incredible speed, and though his uniform had padding, it was not enough to curb the intensity of landing. The ground swirled around him for several seconds in his head, but he kept his eyes closed until his body stopped rolling through the grass, uncurling slowly like a flower in a painful bloom. He groaned loudly, sure that he had broken a couple ribs, but his legs were still intact, and so he rose to his feet. He and Sarna had yet to establish a rendezvous point, but he was still so disoriented from pain and shock that he laid back down in the grass, letting things settle again. Staring into the night sky, raindrops landed on his face – the downpour had stopped, but rainfall was still steady. He heard and felt the impact of the _Halo Hammer_ against the ground – Vader had pulled it with great force. He still couldn't believe that this guy was strong enough to bring a starship to the ground – a _full-throttle-ahead_ _freighter_ , and he had dragged it down like a kite.

Sivora raised his body off the ground again, and soon saw where the _Halo Hammer_ had crashed – about a half a click away. He began limping away from the ship, desperate to find his corporal.

"Sarna!" he shouted into the darkness. "Sarna, get up! We've got to move!"

* * *

Argo had survived the impact. The tingle of phantom limbs pulsed strongly below his knees – where his legs should have been. His hands trembled, nervous for what was to come, but he was determined to see it through. The sound of light rainfall gently caressed his ears, a soothing sensation that he basked in, knowing it was likely one of the last things he would hear. He was not afraid of death – he knew that death came to all living things, and time ensured it as such. Argo only feared incompetence – the thought of being utterly useless – and he knew that wasn't the case for his life, and certainly not in the last 24 hours. He had saved Ziha's life, as well as Sivora's and Sarna's, and hopefully Jett's. Considering the obstacle was Darth Vader, he was very much happy with this outcome.

Soon, he could hear Vader's slow approach up the boarding ramp, which was surely destroyed. If Vader somehow stopped this explosion, he was going to need to be a damn good mechanic to fix that ramp.

 _Khhohhhh puhhhrr…khhohhhh puhhhrr…kchhohh puhhhrrr…_

The sounds of the Sith Lord approaching – sounds that used to make Argo tremble with fear – were almost like victory bells now.

 _Khohh puhrr…kchoohh puhhrr…khhhhohhhh phhhrr…_

For so long, Argo thought of Lord Vader as unstoppable – a man made invincible by the Force.

 _Khohh puhrr…kchOHHHH PUhrrr…KCHOHHHhh PUHHRrr…_

But in this moment, _he_ felt invincible.

Lord Vader was now in the hallway – _time for action_. Argo watched the doorway as he hoisted the briefcase up with his right hand, and began typing in a random code that would seal Vader's fate.

 _2…1…8…7._ He would now only need to press the 'accept' button – a befitting word choice. Soon, he could hear Lord Vader's lightsaber humming in the hallway as its red glow announced his arrival, his boots clomping against the floor in a leisurely stride towards the cockpit. It wasn't long before that black mask was facing Argo Cuneen, and for the last time in his life, he saw Vader.

"It's a shame your friends couldn't give you a 'leg up,' " Vader pined flatly, despite his sardonic words.

The Sullustan engineer smiled wide, and smugly. "Yes, it is…but I assure you, I'm not the only one in this ship who's on _his_ last leg." His triumphant grin wide, Argo Cuneen pressed 'accept.'

* * *

The _Halo Hammer_ exploded.

Jett didn't see it happen, but she heard the enormous blast then whipped around to see the flaming eruption in the void of night. She was at a safe distance, but it was clear from the size of the ensuing cloud that whatever had exploded was powerful. The blaze enveloped most of the ship as it split into burning fragments – fragments that were likely far beyond repair. Whoever was in that ship had certainly died, and whoever was near had likely died as well, if not from shrapnel then from sheer concussive force.

Which probably meant that everyone else was dead – including Kam, and Erim, and the others.

She searched her feelings for the Force again – to try to figure out if anyone was still alive – but her emotions were too unclear, too jumbled. She would have to wait to sense anybody's presence – _if_ there was anyone left to sense. For now, Jett was alone on Vaal, with only one way off of it…but the dawn was coming soon. After a few seconds of staring at the fading mushroom cloud, she continued her walk towards the direction of the Imperial outpost - her last chance of escape from this nightmare, and her first chance to fight the Empire with allies at her side.

For Jett Elleon, there was still hope.


	5. Act V: Outpost V-798

**ACT V: Outpost V-798**

Erim Getchell stood in the Point of Parting - a structural plaza in the city of Plaeree, just outside of its main starport. She was waiting for the Devaronian mercenary Meicx Mactvirk – her local contact in the Black Horn Syndicate – who was leading her to her next job. Erim had chosen to dress down from her typical armor, and given the tropical climate of Devaron, that proved to be a wise choice. The air was thick with a swampy humidity that made breathing feel difficult & waterlogged, and temperatures that would've normally felt warm were almost overbearing in her jumpsuit. Soon, it _did_ become unbearable for her as she opted to remove the top half of her suit, tucking it into her waist to let her arms breathe freely as she tied back her long blond hair. She felt like she was back home on Mandallia, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Erim scanned the crowds repeatedly, combing the seas of species for Meicx until she finally spotted him walking towards her; upon seeing him, she quickly moved to intercept. He was not quite as tall as Erim, but bore all the fearsome traits of his race, including a burnt-red skin, sharp horns and vibrant violet eyes. He spoke musingly, with a smirk through pointed teeth - as he always did. "Right this way, madam."

Knowing Erim was not fond of small talk, these were all the words exchanged between the two until they arrived to the hideout of Arawam Trong, leader of the Black Horn Syndicate. The hideout was in an undisclosed location deep in the thick jungles, far beyond where any tourist would go; the male Devaronians, bound to their wanderlust nature, often ventured through these places in their youth, but very rarely came across Trong's location.

The pair made their way to Trong via the speeder bike that Meicx had taken to meet her. They dodged and swerved through muggy bogs, though forests with dense canopies and hanging vegetation. Again, she was reminded of home – this time of the Mandallian giants that used to live in the nearby swamps. Erim had spent a lot of time in those swamps, training and sparring with a family of giants, with whom Clan Getchell had a respectful relationship.

When they finally did arrive at the place, it wasn't that obvious. The building itself, though two stories tall, was drab and dilapidated, overcome with the ever-growing vines and shrubs from the surrounding marshes. To a lost traveler, it might have looked like an old witch's house. After parking the bike, Meicx made some signaling hand motions to the house, and the surrounding vegetation began to _move_ , revealing itself as several guards with rifles trained from several directions. They stood at attention as Erim & Meicx passed, their stillness relaying a congenial greeting as the two visitors walked up to the door and stepped through.

They stared into an open floor plan, with a mezzanine balcony at the center of a wide rectangular room. Inside the large wooden room, Erim could see that between the symmetric arching staircases leading to the mezzanine was Arawam Trong, sitting at a large desk near the back wall. He was polishing a very familiar piece of metal; upon hearing them enter, he spoke loudly, not looking up from his task.

"Meicx, do me a favor and wait outside – this information is highly sensitive. Nothing personal."

"You got it, boss," Meicx responded, and with a nod to Erim, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him, leaving Erim along with Trong.

Despite the wooden surroundings and seeming lack of insulation, the room was significantly less humid than it was outside. Erim felt a cool breeze of air circulating throughout as she calmly walked toward her employer. Setting down the piece of beskar he was polishing, the man stood up and moved to meet Erim at the midpoint between the staircases. He was human - as tall as Erim, with a sharp jaw, prominent nose, and neatly combed hair that was unevenly parted on his head. His glassy grey eyes met with hers for a couple of seconds, then the two grasped each other's shoulders and bent forward, gently touching their foreheads for a brief moment.

This act – known as a _kov'nyn_ (literally "head butt," commonly called the Kedalbe kiss) was a common greeting ritual for Erim's people, though it was typically done while wearing armor. In truth, Arawam Trong _was_ of Erim's people, and his real name was Ciir Saxon, of Clan Saxon and House Vizsla – also Erim's house. Given his family name's recent history and his subsequent defection, he had assumed a different identity: a Lothalian-born trader turned organized criminal. The beskar on his desk was a piece of shin guard from his armor, and even out of context, Erim knew its sheen and shape.

"Pretty bold to be working on that in the open," Erim stated, nodding towards his desk with small grin, which for her, was a display more rare than aurodium.

"Well, from what I hear, we're a pretty bold people," Ciir ribbed back. "Good to see you, Erim."

"You as well. I hear you have something for me."

"I do, and it's something I only trust you to handle." Ciir's smile quickly faded. "Come with me." They walked over to his desk, and after removing the shin guard from the tabletop, he displayed a holomap of the galaxy over the desk's surface. The two sat down - across from each other. Ciir spoke deliberately.

"I've hired two crews of smugglers to facilitate a handoff of some highly confidential cargo to one of my contacts on Ord Radama – clear across the galaxy. They don't know what they're transporting, but they're being paid enough money that they're not asking questions. One of them – Han Solo – knows my contact on Ord Radama, but for some reason or another can't make the trip across soon enough for me, which is why I sub-contracted your associate Kam Bucca Sivora and his crew to do some of the leg work for Solo. What Solo and Sivora _don't_ know is that I want you to go with them and personally ensure the cargo's safe, undisturbed transit to my contact."

Erim processed this information, then asked what she knew Ciir expected her to ask. "Okay, three questions. What is it I'm transporting? Why me specifically? Why not tell them I'm involved? And if Solo doesn't have the capacity to do the whole trip at this time, why not simply wait until he _can_?"

Ciir didn't bat an eyelash. "I've been in contact with an Imperial scientist by the name of Senara Ridal, who is as brilliant as she is disloyal to the Empire. She was apparently forced to work for the Empire by her husband – an Imperial officer - but she's using their vast resources and technology to work on a project that, if successful, may change the tide of power in the galaxy. Her project is the cargo."

Erim was listening.

"The Empire has grown too powerful – I think we both agree on that – but without unity in the galaxy against them, there is no chance of eliminating them through an outright fight. We would need legions upon legions of super-soldiers to stand a chance – like our people, or like the Jedi – to take them on, but now our people are in conflict, and as long as the Empire exists, that conflict is only going to get worse. So then that leaves the Jedi. But when the Republic won the Clone Wars, they executed almost all of the Jedi in the galaxy, and the Jedi Order as it existed cannot be rebuilt partly because it relied on being able to openly search for Force-sensitive beings and recruit them at an early age. But, Senara Ridal thinks it might be possible to synthesize a drug that _creates_ Force sensitivity.

"There are still a few Jedi left that survive in secrecy, and Ridal knows one of them personally; she asked him to send her a blood sample to engineer a vaccine from, and she's got the first trials of said vaccine ready for testing. Ridal obviously can't test the vaccine on Imperial grounds, but I know a trustworthy scientist on Ord Radama who is competent enough to collaborate on this with her, and now they have been working together on this. If they are successful, we could effectively spread Force sensitivity like a virus among our people - right under the Empire's noses - and by the time they noticed what was happening, it'd be far too late…like a terminal disease that shows symptoms just before killing its host. Unfortunately, these vaccines do have a shelf life, and we cannot wait forever to transport them if we want accurate results they can use."

For a while, Erim said nothing. When she did, her voice was slightly louder, which was how she expressed indignant feelings. "This is not only an outlandish, farfetched plan, but it further emphasizes my confusion on why you would ask _me_ to do this. A Jedi killed my father, as you already know. So why would I want to help create more of them?"

"We wouldn't be creating Jedi, Erim," Ciir answered. "We would only be giving our armies their power. Tell me, what was the downfall of the Jedi?"

Erim didn't say anything, knowing it was rhetorical. Ciir was a calculated speaker, and always knew the answers to questions he asked aloud.

"I'll tell you. It was their _religion_ \- their fanaticism, which fed their hubris, and thus their reformative attitude. Their abilities have nothing to do with religion – it's just a genetic mutation, and we can control genetic mutations through _science_. Your father lost his life unjustly, murdered in cold blood by a zealot…and the only reason it was even possible is because your father's attacker had supernatural abilities. Imagine if that were something we could _control_. The Jedi and Sith never would dominate things again – anybody could have the power they do."

"They can't dominate much now, considering they're gone," Erim replied dryly. "And I think it's awfully risky to consider _making_ people like them, even if it means bringing down the Empire."

"What about if it meant uniting our people again – if we were freeing Mandalore from the Empire's grip, from our house's tyranny? What if we could have our families back together, stronger than ever?"

Erim thought about her village on Mandallia – about her mother, her brothers and her family; these were faces she hadn't seen in years, and despite how her life had turned out in cause of their actions, she wanted nothing more than to take charge of things, for the better.

"Why me, Ciir? Please tell me. Why do I have to be the one to do this?"

"There are two reasons," Ciir said, his tone softening as he leaned in. "For one, I don't trust anybody else in my close company more than you, Erim. You know that already. You're a brilliant, cunning warrior – one of the best I've ever seen – and I know you won't fail. More importantly, we have an understanding of each other that is as unique as it is special. We've had similar trials in life, and we both want the same answers to our problems, to our questions."

"It sounds like YOU should be the one doing this, Ciir – not me," Erim shot back.

"Which leads me to my second reason, and why the smugglers don't know you're coming." Opening a drawer, he slapped a piece of paper on the desk, and through the holomap, Erim saw that it was a "wanted" poster made by the Galactic Empire. On the left half was a laundry list of crimes and the reward – 10,000 credits - and on the right half stood the smug figure of Han Solo.

"You want me to turn in Han Solo to the Empire?"

"Not to the _Empire_ , Erim," Ciir said, a grin spreading across his face. "Though a reward of 10,000 credits is pretty substantial, I have an even better idea. Word has it that the idiot burned Jabba the Hutt on some cargo he was smuggling, and he's taken too long to pay him back, so now Jabba has a bounty on his head, too. The bounty started at 20,000 credits, and if Solo keeps avoiding him, that's only going to keep climbing…until _somebody_ captures him."

Erim fought the urge to scratch her head in confusion. "You would betray Han Solo? He's a valuable business connection to you."

"I'm not betraying him, Erim…this is relatively public knowledge, especially in our circles. I'm simply bringing you up to speed. The reason he hasn't been captured already is that not only do most people not know where to find Han Solo, but none of them who do have the slightest chance at capturing him, save a few elite bounty hunters. But YOU do, and now you know exactly where he'll be. I also know you despise dishonor of any kind just as much as me, so you too can see why he should pay for his treachery."

She thought about this.

"You don't even have to capture him right away – you could track him, wait for the bounty to rise. Or…" Ciir let the silence hang in the air. "You could capture him now and take what I've paid him to do this job, which is _225,000 credits_ – roughly half of what I've saved up personally."

Erim sat up, unfolding her arms as she leaned in and placed a hand on the table. "Why would you pay him so much?"

"Well, for one, I didn't want him to refuse the job," Ciir noted. "And for two, this money – this lifestyle I lead now – is not something I do for myself. In the end, I'm doing it for my people, so that one day I may have the power to unite us again. And I must admit, I'm also doing it for you."

He placed a hand over hers. She didn't move away.

"Don't worry – I haven't forgotten your answer. I've accepted it, and will respect it. That stuff aside, I'm giving you a choice to make – for yourself. You don't have to rob Han Solo, you don't have to turn him in, and you don't even have to track him if you don't want. I'm going to pay you 10,000 credits for this job regardless, plus my contact in Ord Radama will help arrange transport for you back to Devaron. But in light of the horrible luck you've had, I just wanted to give you a chance to live a better life – to figure things out on your own, outside of this crime underworld."

Erim was quiet, feeling the warmth of his hand on hers. "Why not just give me the money, Ciir?"

" _Come on_ , Erim – you know you wouldn't take it if I tried that. And I know that, too. You've never wanted a handout – regardless of your situation – and that is one of the things I admire most about you. But you're living out of your dying starship, barely making ends meet as you risk your life, all as you run from your old life. You deserve BETTER than that. We both do. But I need to see this project through, and whether or not it works out, you deserve a chance to be happy. I want that to be possible for you, no matter what happens."

She didn't know what to say, and instead chose to stare back at Ciir, unmoving and emotionally guarded as she could muster to appear. He soon lifted his hand and reclined in his seat, weaving his fingers together.

"You don't have to make a decision right now, of course," he said, assuaging her inner dialogue. "For now, just take the cargo with you, do the job, and if Solo tries to pull a fast one on you, check him. I know you trust Kam, but he absolutely cannot know what he's transporting. No one can know but us, as well as the two scientists. We can't risk the Empire finding us out. Not until it's too late, anyway."

Ciir pulled out a large case from under his desk, and judging by how he set it down on the table, it was quite heavy. There were locks on the three latches that held it shut, and a keypad below the handle. "This case can only be opened by typing in a code on the keypad, and that code is something only you and I would know."

Upon hearing that, Erim knew exactly what the code was.

"Be careful, though – if you type it in wrong, even once, there are…drastic failsafe cautions. It's probably best just not to let anyone touch it."

Erim also knew what that meant, and not to let anyone near that briefcase's keypad – for her sake, and theirs.

"No one will touch that case besides me - not without dying first," Erim confirmed.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to _that_ , but I appreciate your conviction," Ciir added with a nod. "All in all, this should be a pretty seamless job. Kam has the details he needs, so I'll let you two contact each other and work out a mutual rendezvous point. No one knows this is happening, and the handoff location is both remote and secure. Even if there are any surprises, I know that you will deal with them the same way you do all things – with exceptional intelligence, grace and precision."

Erim Getchell and Ciir Saxon both stood up. Though she never actually confirmed that she wanted the job, she never refused a job from Ciir, and at this point in their relationship it probably would have been insulting to her for him to _ask_ if she was interested in taking it. The two Mandalorians leaned over the desk and gave each other one last _kov'nyn_. Then, Erim said something she never said to anyone – that she now wished she could have said to her father.

"Thank you."

Ciir smiled at her. " _Aliit ori'shya tal'din,"_ he replied - Mando'a for "family is more than blood."

Erim gave a curt nod in response, then grabbed the case, and sharply turned on her heel, heading for the door. To Ciir, it probably looked like she was just eager to get going. In reality, she wanted to turn her face away from him, to hide the teardrop that was now rolling down her cheek.

"One more thing," Ciir called after Erim, causing her to stop. "Did you ever pay a visit to my contact on Fest?"

"I did," Erim affirmed, keeping her voice powerful and clear. "He delivered to me what you promised. It is surprisingly exceptional."

"Perfect," Ciir said. "Whoever said we're doomed to repeat our parents' mistakes obviously never heard of _evolution_. I'm glad he was of service to you. I just hope you never have to use them."

"If your plan comes to fruition, I may have to use them sooner than we both want," Erim replied. And with that, she walked through the door, into the marshes of Devaron once more, en route to her _Helix-_ class light interceptor, where she would contact Kam Bucca Sivora. Her new job had begun, and regardless of what happened, Erim Getchell knew that she would be successful.

* * *

When Ziha Ridal awoke, his vision was blurrier than ever, and didn't seem to improve as he became more aware. Sickly and disoriented, he tried to prop himself up and was immediately greeted by a terrible pain from pressing the stump of his right arm into the ground. A scream escaped his lips and he collapsed back onto the damp grass, coughing and sputtering. Having landed atop his right arm, he could feel something missing, and realized all over again his right hand had been amputated. That was when it all came back – Vader, the lightsaber, that child Jett Force-choking Sivora, Erim's fight for their lives that ended with her death…Ziha thought he might throw up again, but kept it together as he rolled onto his back and sat up once more. This time he used his left arm, which also came with pain, but was successful.

The darkness and rain was all that existed, and as he kept turning his head in search of _anything_ _at all_ , he saw the glowing orange streaks of a fire – there had been another explosion. He suddenly gave a huge retch, but had nothing to expunge, his stomach emptied. He went to get off the ground, but instinctively tried to use his right arm again. That same searing pain endured, and he collapsed onto the ground once more, crying out in despair. Nausea swept over him in huge waves, keeping him subdued as he tried to make sense of his world.

He knew that the _Halo Hammer_ was most likely what had blown up – there was nothing else out here that could have exploded. He wondered if there were any survivors, despite the fact that it was irrelevant – if there had been any, Vader would have certainly killed them. It then occurred to Ziha that _he_ was still alive, so maybe there was hope for other survivors. After Erim's gruesome death, Ziha had seen the _Hammer_ take off and knew that he was doomed unless he could locate the Imperial outpost, but without a map or any prior knowledge, he had almost no chance. Even if he _did_ find it, he would have to somehow sneak past the guards and steal the ship one-handed, without his gloves to aid him. Although he luckily was far enough away from the explosion to survive it, he was now alone, only armed with an ancient Sith dagger, which was more an artifact rather than a weapon – he'd never used it on anyone. Truthfully, he didn't even know if he _could_ – stabbing was such a personal means of killing, and Ziha was no killer.

This time, when Ziha went to stand up, he used his left hand. It burned strongly with pain again, especially in his fingertips. He looked one last time at the burning husk of the _Halo Hammer's_ remains _,_ then turned his head to continue walking in the plains. If there were an outpost, he was sure to at least see it in the distance eventually – the ground was virtually flat.

For what seemed like forever, he dragged his body through the raining plains, soaked to the bone and weak as he could ever remember feeling. He didn't care much about losing his hand – he knew it could be replaced – but this was certainly not the best time to be missing a limb. Fixating himself on a tree in the distance, he hobbled along until the tree was right next to him, and he could slump down against its trunk in relief. He closed his eyes, and sat there for a few moments, trying to regain strength. The _Hammer's_ crash site was further away now, but other than that, not much had changed about his surroundings. Normally, this would have frustrated him greatly, but at this point, he was just happy to be alive. He felt horrible and was surely suffering some side effects from overriding the safety features on his gloves, but he was still alive.

That was when he saw Vader again.

He couldn't be sure it was Vader – it was dark and his vision was still somewhat blurry – but the figure was moving toward him slowly, and without sound, only backlit by the dying fire from the explosion. Too weak to run, fight or scream, Ziha laid his back against the tree behind him and listened to the pattering rain, accepting his fate. He had given up, acknowledging the futility of his actions. The shadow took several minutes to make its way toward him, and as it did, he thought about how Vader would kill him – if he would mercifully swipe off his head, or if he would crush him to death as he would have done Erim, had the jetpack not given her an easy out. The thought of choking to death seemed peaceful, especially since he was already drifting in and out of consciousness. It would be like a slow lulling to sleep - one that Ziha would take graciously.

"Kam? Kam, is that you?"

The voice that Ziha heard was not Vader's. A light suddenly ignited in his face, hurting his eyes as he squinted to adjust. The light didn't give him any clues as to who this was, but he guessed by their female voice and their need to find Kam that it was Sarna Sereta. She kept the light trained upon Ziha, standing maybe a few meters away from him.

"Do you know where Kam is?"

Ziha coughed when he initially tried to speak, his voice weak and ragged from vomiting. "No – I have no idea where he is. Look, can you help me? I can't…I can't go on much further alone."

"Sure – I can help you out."

Ziha was surprised at the quickness of her answer. "Th-thank you. If you could just – "

 _PEOHHW!_

A blaster bolt hammered Ziha just to the left of his navel. He wore armor underneath his robe, but it wasn't designed for close-range fire, and so the bolt had blown a burning hole in his side. Too weak to scream, Ziha gritted his teeth in immense pain, the wound radiating sharp, crisp agony across his body. Each cough that followed restarted the sensation that a white-hot knife was being stabbed into his abdomen, and involuntary tears began to flow. Finally, the screams came.

"AaaaaAAAHHH! AHHHH! AHHHHHHghhh…"

"Anything else I can do for you?" Sarna spoke like a waiter in a diner.

Ziha had never been angrier in his life. Here he was, weak beyond the point of self-defense, stranded on a remote planet with an all-powerful murderer, and still this vindictive bitch Sarna was _torturing_ him. He wanted so badly to strangle her, to electrocute her to ashes, to cause her some form of suffering…but he couldn't, and he had to play it smart. She was obviously insane, and would kill him without blinking if pushed too far.

"No…no, that should be good," Ziha groaned, still gnashing his teeth in pain. "Thank you."

"Hm…" Sarna seemed to ponder this for a second. "Okay – as you wish. But just in case…"

 _PEOHHW!_

Another bolt struck Ziha – this time, in the right side of his chest. She was firing in nonlethal spots on his body, and the second shot made it clear she was doing this _intentionally_. The pain was even worse, as he now had _two_ singed holes formed in his torso, both vying for max attention from his nerve receptors. Each inhalation was fire, each exhalation pure torture. Fortunately, he only had the strength to wail in distress for a few seconds before he once again lost consciousness.

* * *

The Imperial outpost was in a clearing in the distance. It was still far away – maybe a few clicks or so – but it was plainly visible through the arriving dawn. The only tall, geometric variation in an otherwise flat plane of earth, it seemed to be a very small outpost – barely larger than the shuttle housed on it - which was a size reflective of its relevance to the Empire…it still seemed strange that there was an outpost at all on this remote of a planet. Jett couldn't see any kind of security measures from this distance, but regardless of what they were, she was determined to get on that shuttle. She kept watchful eyes and ears as she continued hiking forward, well aware of the predators that could be lurking in the tall grass.

A sudden tinge at the back of her neck made her whip around. There was nothing there to see, but she felt an urge to search for something. Reaching out with her mind, she thought about the events that had transpired – about the monstrous Vader that was closing in on the shuttle, and about the exploding Corellian light freighter that had certainly sealed the other survivors' fate –

Or had it?

She could sense Kam's presence, somewhere out there in the distance. He was alive – she was sure of it now. She searched the still-dark plains for anyone walking through them, and her intuition led her to a lone soul wading through the plains. Jett knew this was Sivora, and wondered if he knew where the outpost was…but she hesitated to go in his direction.

 _Is it even worth it? Vader is closing in on the shuttle, and Kam probably wants nothing to do with me anymore. I know I sure as hell wouldn't after what I did to him…but he deserved it, goddamnit! I shouldn't be feeling guilty about this. Anyone would have done what I did in my position._

 _But I can't just be 'anybody' anymore. I can't keep using that excuse. And I can't leave him behind – even if he hates me. I've got to go get him._

Jett picked up her pace, running toward him with urgency. If they were going to get off this planet alive, they _had_ to get to the shuttle before Vader did, and they were running out of time.

Daylight was starting to break over the horizon, and now Sarna could see the plains more clearly, much to her relief. Keeping a low profile in case Vader had survived, she crept forward with determination, despite the fact she had no idea where she was going, or where her captain was. She wasn't even sure if he'd survived the landing & explosion, but in her mind, telling herself that he might be dead wasn't an option. For most of her life, Kam had been her most loyal friend…and now, in the wake of Vader's massacre, Kam was her _only_ friend. Losing him was not an option.

Sarna's eye's swept back and forth across the flat expanses; she was careful not to get turned around or lose what little orientation she had obtained, and yet she had still managed not to locate her captain. Panic had begun to set in, and the reality of being alone on this planet was beginning to infect her thoughts. Keeping hold of her sense of direction was the last thread of sanity she had left, so she made mental note of the three landmarks she could see – a tree in the distance, the tree behind her - where she had left that cowardly traitor Ziha Ridal to die – and the crash site of the _Hammer_. She stood up temporarily, and scanned to the left and right of her again, desperate for something to see that would give her some clarity or direction.

And she finally got her wish.

In the distance to her right, somebody was sprinting across the plains at full speed. Sarna hurriedly grabbed her sniper rifle and tried to catch up with the figure in the scope, but Sarna was a little too close to train her lens long enough for a good look, and whoever it was continued sprinting along. The corporal gave an exasperated sigh before jogging toward the unidentified person, moving tenderly on the ankle she injured in the fall while keeping her eyes open for Vader in the process; Sarna had surely suffered a multitude of injuries, but she was wired with adrenaline and her iron will to find Sivora.

Once she saw they had stopped, she instinctively ducked down again, taking another look through her scope. When she finally settled on the figure, she was not pleased in the slightest.

It was _Jett Elleon_. Anger splashed over Sarna like molten lead, and contempt filled up her heart to the brim until it ran over. She had tried to murder Kam in cold blood – all for that monster Lord Vader – after Kam had done nothing but take her in, all against Sarna's warnings of chaos. Whatever Kam had done in the past that warranted the apology he gave through Jett's Force chokehold, it was certainly not worth a sudden death sentence in Sarna's eyes.

But trying to kill her only friend left in the galaxy _was_.

Sarna was no stranger to sniping, and so second nature kicked in. Keeping her scope trained on Jett, Sarna began priming her shot. The world around her disappeared as she focused hard upon her task, calculating the distance and feeling the wind around her. She compensated her aim accordingly for Jett's center of mass, held her breath, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Exhaustion had taken its toll on Kam Bucca Sivora. He had limped far away enough from the crash site to survive, but had suffered a myriad of injuries during his impact, and had failed to find Sarna. His only real hope was to get to the outpost before anybody else – before Jett, or Ziha, or Vader if he had survived the explosion, _God forbid._ If Kam could get the shuttle, he could make one last sweep of the area to find her…but he feared that if Vader were still alive, he would certainly bring that ship down, given his previous display on the _Halo Hammer_. A _Lambda_ -class shuttle wasn't nearly as massive as a Corellian light freighter, so Vader wouldn't struggle in the slightest. Searching for Sarna almost seemed like a lost cause – one that would lead him to his own death – but he couldn't think about that. All he could think about was getting to that outpost.

But then he started thinking about Jett. His thoughts were nonlinear, flashing from moments of her as a happy child, to her angry face in the starport, to her eyes burning with yellow fire as she remorselessly choked him with the Force, to her crying on his shoulder because some neighbor boys had made fun of her short-cut hair. " _She might be the one wearing that mask someday_ ," Argo had said just before Sivora and Sarna left him to die. His suicidal attempt to end Vader's rampage hopefully had not been wasted, but his words certainly were not wasted on Sivora.

Unfortunate as it was, the young engineer was right. Whether Kam liked it or not, he was responsible for Jett, and part of what had haunted him for over a decade about her is that deep down, he _knew_ he was responsible for her, and thus had failed her. He had failed her as a role model, as a protector and as a friend. And instead of continuing trying to track her down after her family remained for their village's sacking, he had assumed she was dead and written her off in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the paralyzing guilt he felt in his heart.

But now the consequences of his actions had come to a head. And if he was not careful, these consequences could long outlive him, and possibly even Jett.

In that moment, Kam Bucca Sivora decided that we would not fail her again.

 _Screw getting to the shuttle – if Jett is still alive, I've got to find her._ Then again, if he got to the shuttle, it would be easier to find her…Sivora was so conflicted – what could he possibly do –

 _Is that JETT?_

Someone was sprinting towards him in the plains; though daylight was coming, it was still a little too dark for him to tell who it was from afar. Seeing that the figure would soon meet him where he stood, Kam dropped to his knees in fatigue, longing for just a moment of rest as his ribs ached with dull pain. Perhaps out of sheer serendipity, it turned out that it WAS Jett who had ran to him. She stood there, panting with her rifle slung over her shoulder, still wearing Kam's old jacket. He remarked how through all of the peril that had faced them in the last twelve hours, she was still just as unscathed and unharmed as she was when they departed. The Force truly was with her.

"Kam," Jett sighed, still catching her breath. "Look, back there – I don't know what happened to me, but I'm – "

 _PTSSHHHOH!_

Right before the blaster sounded, Jett had suddenly turned to her right, almost like she could sense that something was coming; regardless, this was not enough to save her. The blaster bolt struck her hard with a loud _thump_ , throwing her body into a spin that ended with her face down in the grass. Kam's scream was involuntary, escaping his mouth as he ducked down flat to avoid being shot. A sniper rifle – one that sounded very much like Sarna's favored rifle, had fired the round. The Imperials at the outpost must have spotted them alone amongst the plains, and for some reason had decided to open fire. _But why the hell would they do that?!_

"Jett! Jett, can you hear me?! Talk to me!" Sivora could only scream after Jett as he crawled towards her, his mind going insane with alert and anxiety, which in turned kicked in his battle instincts. The enemy was clearly a fair distance away, and the grass was Kam's only real cover. He couldn't afford to get up until he had a plan. But for now, his only concern was getting to Jett.

Fortunately, as he crawled toward her, he could hear her agonized groans of pain muffled by the earth. She was _alive_ , thank God. He got close enough to talk to her without shouting.

"Jett, how bad are you hurt? Where did you get hit?"

"My shoulder," she moaned between her distressing sounds. "My arm – it's destroyed…" Her right arm clawed at the dirt, but as she pushed herself up Kam pressed her back down.

"We've got to stay hidden!" Kam whispered urgently. "There's a sniper somewhere out there."

"No shit!" Jett groaned loudly. "They almost took my arm off."

"Too bad I didn't take your head off instead."

Sivora turned his head and sat up, but he couldn't believe who he saw holding the rifle.

" _Sarna_?"

"Kam!" she shouted back, elation in her voice as she dropped her rifle. "You're alive! I can't believe you made it –"

"Sarna, what the HELL are you doing?! You shot Jett! Have you lost your mind?!"

"Of course I shot her!" she blurted. "She tried to _murder_ you, Kam – I had to stop her before –"

"You _know_ that Vader was manipulating her through the Force!" he roared, now on his feet. "What was your plan – to assassinate her in cold blood?"

"I don't see why you care about her in the slightest when she _abandoned_ you after trying to kill YOU in cold blood," Sarna barked, looking down at Jett.

"I tried to SAVE him!" Jett shrieked, propping herself up from the ground. "You're a _fucking_ _liar_ –"

"This is _all your fault_ , you BITCH!" Sarna exploded, drawing her blaster rifle.

"Sarna, STOP!" Kam pleaded.

 _PEOHHW!_

* * *

What happened in the next few seconds for Jett Elleon was a blur. She was wound up in so much emotion that processing things in real time seemed all but impossible. One minute, she had found Kam. The next, a high-powered blaster bolt had torn open her left shoulder. Then, Sarna Sereta had shown herself as Jett's sniper, and they had begun a shouting match. The next moment was a blank for Jett, happening in a blink…but in this moment, Sarna had fired another blaster bolt at Jett, but Sivora had moved in front of her. It's unclear if he knew Sarna would actually shoot or if he was just trying to defuse the situation, but now, Kam Bucca Sivora lay dead in front of Jett, a large black hole burnt through his chest as his face remained frozen in alarm, desperate to calm down Sarna. The blast had completely charred his insides, and not so much as a single breath escaped his body.

Sarna had dropped her heavy blaster rifle, apparently in as much disbelief as Jett was. This silence did not last long, however.

"KAM! Oh my God, Kam please no!"

Sarna limped toward his body and kneeled down. Her fingers pressed against his neck, in search of a pulse. But Jett knew it was a lost cause; his heart had been vaporized. Not knowing what else she could do, Jett got up to her feet, and after staring for a few more seconds she ran, leaving the wailing Sarna Sereta to mourn alone until her voice faded away in the distance.

"No, no, no, no – please stay with me Kam, come on! Breathe, Kam – BREATHE, goddamn you! You can't leave me! PLEASE wake up, I'm SO sorry – I didn't mean to…"

* * *

When Ziha Ridal awoke yet again, both Sarna Sereta and the rainfall were gone. Afraid of the intense pain returning to him, he tried his best not to move, speak, or even breathe. Soon, Ziha's lungs forced him to inhale, which expectedly awakened his wounds. There were so many major injuries on his body at this point that his mind didn't even know to process it all at once. He had no idea how he was going to survive another hour, never mind long enough to traipse across the planet blindly in search of the outpost.

That was when he saw the crimson blade in the distance; this time, he _knew_ it was Vader that was gliding toward him. And despite the fear in his heart, Ziha saw it pointless to move; he could not outrun Vader's telekinesis at his healthiest, and he damn sure couldn't fight him. Before long, Vader was standing right in front of him, and the sounds of his armor and lightsaber set the tone for the horror that was surely to come.

But instead of striking him down, Vader spoke.

"It seems that I have underestimated you," the powerful voice boomed. "Your technology is exceptional, as is your will to survive at all costs. If you are willing to swear fealty, the Empire may have use for you."

This was an unexpected turn of events for Ziha Ridal. He had been staring impending doom in the face for hours, but now was offered not only a chance to escape, but also a chance to be _useful_. He weighed his feelings before using the tree to stand up, wincing through his injuries.

"I would be brought back to the Empire – to continue my work?" Ziha queried, his tone rising as he sat himself up, groaning from the burning blaster injuries.

"Your 'work' would be that which suited the Emperor's needs, but yes."

Ziha thought for a few seconds. Then, he pushed himself off the tree to kneel in front of the Sith Lord.

"I would be honored to be your apprentice, Lord Vader," Ziha crooned.

"You cannot be my apprentice," Vader responded. "The power of the Force is not with you."

"I assure you," Ziha began, "I am powerful in other ways."

In a quick flash, Ziha snatched the dagger from his boot and thrust it upward, aiming for Vader's control panel. He didn't hear it stab through Vader, and he still couldn't see well, but he could feel that the blade was lodged. When Vader seemed unfazed, Ziha tried to pull it out, to no avail…and then when he tried to move his arm, he realized it too was stuck. Despite surprising speed, Vader had caught him in the act, and managed to stop him without moving an inch.

"Once again, your thoughts have betrayed you," Vader surmised. Ziha felt the large dagger leave his frozen hand, and fear began to creep up his neck. The Sith Lord studied the weapon as it floated mid-air, making no sound aside from his armor's hissing and compressing.

"This weapon is an artifact of ancient Sith culture, imbued with dark-side energy." Vader spoke to Ziha like a child. "But it has apparently deceived you into thinking you could _become_ a Sith."

Still keeping his Force grip on Ziha's arm, he slowly brought the dagger down near Ziha's elbow, in position to amputate the arm. He seemed to savor making Ziha's terror climb in anticipation – in feeling Ziha's skin crawl and heart race. It seemed like hours before Vader spoke again.

"I am willing to make you a wager."

The dagger swiped across Ziha's forearm, but did not sever it; Vader had merely cut him. The warm blood dripped down his arm, and Ziha could feel another strange sensation from the gash.

"This weapon's Force energy causes rapid decay, and eventually death. Most wounded by it will not survive more than an hour," Vader told Ziha, "… _unless_ they are powerful enough in the Force to heal the wound. If you can find the power to survive this, I will make you my new apprentice."

The dagger floated out of Ziha's sight, and before long, he felt it sliding back into his boot – where he always kept it. The wound on his still-outstretched arm was now tingling, and he could feel the occasional spasm in his fingers. Vader began walking past Ziha, keeping the wounded young man stuck in place with the Force. As he disappeared from sight, Ziha Ridal heard Vader's parting words resonate in the night air:

" _May the Force be with you_."

The grip on Ziha's arm released, soon followed by another wave of acidic sensation coursing through it. He wanted to find a light – anything to see what the injury looked like – but he could not make out anything in the darkness, only having the unique torment of this wound as a clue.

Something drastic was wrong.

He wondered if Vader was right about the weapon; the collector Ziha bought it from claimed it once belonged to the ancient Sith Lord Marka Ragnos, but Ziha didn't really believe that, nor did it matter – it was a Sith weapon, and that's all that mattered to him. But now, he supposed it was probably true; he could practically _feel_ the disease spreading up his arm, inching past his elbow. His mind raced madly, searching for ideas; he thought of making a tourniquet, but not only did he not have another arm to make it with, he doubted that it would stop a true Force-related infection. His only option was to find the outpost – somehow, before Vader – before it was too late.

His arm burned intensely as he used it to stand up, but knowing he had no choice, he bore full weight upon it until he rose again. A few coughs awakened the burning holes in his torso that Sarna had blasted into him, and he gritted his teeth to hold in a scream. Determined to make it back home, Ziha began limping in the direction Vader had gone; it was still somewhat dark, but just light enough that Vader's shadowy cloak was visible in the distance. Ziha didn't have to catch up with him – just keep pace with him, and hope that the others would keep him distracted while Ziha snuck onto the outpost. Hopefully, there were medical supplies in the shuttle – he needed them desperately…

* * *

Kam hadn't moved since Sarna shot him. She cradled him in her arms, sobbing as she tried to figure out how to help him – surely there was _something_ that could be done. Chest compressions were not an option, as the sizzling hole left by the blaster was in his sternum; first, she would need to close the wound.

Sarna tore several bacta bandages from her utility belt, opening them and covering her captain's chest with them. Once that was done, she leaned over to his mouth to listen for breathing.

Silence.

His face was still frozen in shock, eyes and mouth wide open.

She felt around for a pulse.

Silence.

Allowing a few moments for the bandages to take hold, she listened again for his breathing.

Still silence.

 _How long do these goddamn things take to WORK?!_

She leaned into his chest, near his heart.

Nothing.

Sarna was out of options.

She sat back onto the ground, arms resting on her knees.

 _He can't be dead - that's impossible. The bacta will start working soon. He's not dead. He can't be dead. He just needs more medical help. He's not dead. He's not dead. I've got to get help._

 _The outpost._

Sarna tried to pick up Kam, but the weakness in her injured ankle would not allow it. Realizing that she would have to leave him alone to get supplies, she reluctantly laid him back down.

"Kam, I'll be right back okay? I'm just going to run to the outpost to get a better med kit. Stay still!"

Regretfully, she began her trek across the plains. The grass resisted her rapid strides, making the pain in her ankle flare even more. Daylight was almost upon them, which meant she could see further, but on this planet, seeing didn't offer much guidance. Sarna had been moving for at least a minute before she realized that she had no idea where she was going. She frantically turned back to look for her captain, but then realized that she couldn't see him anymore, lost in the tall grass. She looked left, then right, and before she knew it, all of the grass looked the same to her.

Sarna Sereta was alone, and lost.

She screamed in anger at the cryptic plains, in need of direction – some kind of landmark. Panic swept over her completely, overtaking her final shreds of control. Hope was gone from her.

 _This is entirely your fault. You failed as a leader, and you betrayed Kam - your only friend left in the galaxy. You are worthless – you always have been._

 _You deserve this._

"I didn't mean for it to happen…I was trying to SAVE him…"

 _You betrayed him by letting it come to this. You betrayed him the second you let Jett Elleon onto your ship, and betrayed him further by letting her manipulate him. You knew this was your fate._

"I tried to stop it…I tried to stop everything!"

 _And yet, you failed. This is why you never became an officer. The Empire saw through you – saw your weakness and incompetence. They saw a TRAITOR._

"I am…I am a traitor."

 _You were a traitor to the Empire then, and you are a traitor to your friends now. This is why they all left you here alone to die. You are not worthy of their support. You are not worthy of anything._

"I…I do deserve this. I AM worthless."

 _You have always known this to be true. What you see now is undeniable proof._

Sarna spotted Jett Elleon running through the plains, about a click ahead. She did not think this time – she only reacted. Having left her sniper rifle behind with Kam, Sarna grabbed the heavy blaster on her hip, extending the stock before taking aim. She was out of range to make an accurate or effective shot, but she began firing anyway.

 _PEOHHW! PEOHHW! PEOHHW! PEOHHW!_

Over the blaster fire, Sarna let out a ferocious scream, determined to catch her target's ears.

"I'm gonna KILL you, Jett! Do you hear me, you traitorous bitch?! _KILL YOU_!"

* * *

Jett could faintly hear blaster fire behind her – blaster fire that she knew very well from her nightmares. It was an E-11 – the standard sidearm of Imperial stormtroopers, and one that the battalion who raided her village had used to slay everyone they could find. However, judging by how far away the blasts sounded, the weapon was well out of dangerous range. Standing up to see who was firing, Jett saw Sarna Sereta – the only other survivor of the _Halo Hammer_. She was charging toward Jett's direction with a pitiful limp, moving like a wounded, starving animal.

"AAAAAAGHH!" she heard the corporal roar, relentlessly closing the gap.

Jett reached for her A180 rifle, but the searing pain in her left shoulder dominated her arm. Until she could get medical assistance, her arm was essentially useless. Jett tried to prop up her rifle one-handed, but at this range she could barely hold it steady, which meant that getting a clean shot on Sarna would be near impossible.

That was when she realized that she didn't even want to kill Sarna Sereta. If anything, she felt _sorry_ for her. Driven mad by the catastrophic failure of this mission and the deaths of her friends, Jett saw glimpses of herself in Sarna. These glimpses showed through as Jett peered through her scope, watching the tortured shell of a woman firing madly in the air, chasing her last chance to display loyalty to her slain captain.

That was when Jett saw something moving behind Sarna.

 _Vader?_

No – not Vader…as Jett zoomed out, she saw there were _multiple_ things – things that had formed a rapidly closing circle around the corporal. Sarna stopped firing, presumably because she heard what was coming for her. But she was surrounded, and heavily outnumbered. Jett knew what was lurking in the grass. Their hunger was palpable in her mind.

 _She made too much noise. She drew them to her._

The first one leapt for her neck.

Sarna blasted the hyenax out of the air, but a second one jumped her blind side and sunk its teeth into her side. She screamed bloody murder, continuing to fire on the animals in front of her as another came from behind, dragging her down into the grass. Jett could no longer see what was happening. She could only hear the blaster fire, the ravenous barking of the canines, and the corporal's desperate cries for help.

"KAM! Kam, PLEASE HELP ME! OH, MY GOD – AAAAGH!"

Blood sprayed across the golden grass in flecks, then in thick gushes. The blaster fire and the screams both suddenly stopped. Jett heard the snapping of bone, and the tearing of flesh as the pack settled over their kill, some of them occasionally rearing their head back as they swallowed a chunk of muscle tissue.

Sarna Sereta was dead, devoured by her insanity.

Jett put down her rifle.

* * *

The last few battles, Republic Private Sarna Sereta had felt flawless. But now, she felt trapped.

An ambush of Separatist mercenaries hit them hard. They caught the squad off-guard, amidst a peaceful patrol through a remote village in the jungles of Naboo, just outside of Theed. As the villagers scattered wildly, Sereta and Corporal Carth Torpoli had managed to find some semblance of cover from the barrage of blaster fire behind a large wall of stone, but they were still exposed on multiple sides. Private Mizou Umezaki was pinned just to the left of Sereta and Torpoli, along with Lieutenant Talina Adrien, who had caught a blaster bolt to the side.

The rest had been slaughtered.

Private Sereta hoped that somehow, some way, Sergeant Kam Bucca Sivora survived the attack; though Lt. Adrien was present, he was the acting CO of the squad – in place of their own lieutenant, as they had not expected to be gone long. As Umezaki and Torpoli fired blindly over their cover, Sereta poked out to scan the treetops, spotting a sniper perched high in a nest. However, by the time she could hone in her sights, the continuous attacks would immediately drive her back down. The heavy blasters in the canopies were loud, powerful and menacing…a grave situation indeed, and doomed to worsen.

"Sarge!" she cried out over the heavy blaster fire. "Sarge, are you still with us, sir?"

"Affirmative, Private," Sergeant Sivora's voice barked over the din of attacks. She couldn't see him, but she could hear him. "But I should be the last of your concerns now. Are you armed?"

She glanced at the A280CFE slung across her shoulder. "Affirmative, sir – I have my rifle, sir."

"Good," the sergeant affirmed. "You are my best shot, and my only sniper. I count at least five sniper nests. I need you to take out those nests. Torpoli and Uzemaki, fan out with me to give our private some cover fire. We don't have many power packs, so Private, I need your shots to make our cover count. Do you copy?"

Private Sereta panicked. "There's too many, sir! I can't make those kind of shots in rapid succession, sir."

" 'Can't,' or 'haven't tried to?' "

"Both, sir."

"Well, there's a first time for everything! I believe in you, Sarna Sereta. You CAN do this."

Her heart was racing. There was no _way_ …she couldn't do this if her life depended on it.

But it wasn't just _her_ life that depended on it; it was also the lives of her squad – her friends.

She _had_ to do this.

"Ready, Private?"

"Ready, sir."

"Okay, Torpoli, Uzemaki…NOW!"

All other noise simmered away; Sarna Sereta rose from cover as she brought the rifle's scope to her eye, focused on her task. She knew where the first nest was – she had spotted it earlier, at 3 o' clock.

 _PTSSHHHOH!_

The force of the bolt knocked the mercenary out of his nest. On the edge of her scope, Sarna saw a second nest. By the time she quickly readjusted, her rifle had cooled adequately.

 _PTSSHHHOH!_

Feeling her time slipping, Sarna ducked behind cover, and sure enough, the stone was hammered with blaster fire. Spotting a hut a few meters away, she waited until the blaster fire stopped before sprinting the gap, staying low. Shifting to the other side of the hut, she shifted to 10 o'clock, and searched for several seconds before finding a turret nest.

 _PTSSHHHOH!_

These insurgents were armed heavily, but they were not tactical. They did not have precise long-range weapons like Sarna, nor did they have her surgical aim. A final grouping of three nests laid at about 11 o' clock. Spotting them all, her last shots were rhythmic, and deadly.

 _PTSSHHHOH! PTSSHHHOH! PTSSHHHOH!_

The firing stopped. Her rifle hissed with excessive heat buildup, but she had done it.

She had saved her squad.

"Clear!" she affirmed.

The next few hours were bittersweet. Sarna had saved what remained of her friends, but numerous villagers had died in the process. Nonetheless, her squad was very grateful for her sharpshooting, and continued to express their gratitude until they arrived back to their base outside of Theed. Lt. Adrien was taken to the med bay, and Captain Rian Lionne came to greet the survivors as they stood at attention. He was tall, with prominent, morose facial features that looked like he was sculpted from wax.

"Sergeant Sivora, I'm relieved to see you made it out of this alive," Captain Lionne mused. "I'm terribly sorry for the loss of our men, but I commend you for your leadership in and managing to save a few of our men in the process."

"Sir," Sivora saluted, "That means the world to me. But you must know, it was Private Sereta who truly saved us. I couldn't have done it without her bravery and marksmanship. Truly, we owe our lives to her."

The captain studied Sarna for a few seconds. "Your humility has always been a great trait, Sivora," he said as he looked at Sarna. "Speaking of which, Colonel Norith would like to see you. He desires to commend your work personally."

"Sir, yes sir," Sivora responded. As the captain left, Sivora gave a look to Sarna. This wasn't the first time she had been snubbed by Captain Lionne, and Sarna knew it wouldn't be the last. If anything, it was motivation for her to do better – to _be_ better, such to the point that he wouldn't be able to deny her excellence. Sarna held the victory of that day deep in her heart, because it was the first time in her military career that others had counted upon her success, and she HAD succeeded. From that day forward, her loyalty to her comrades and her loyalty to Sergeant Sivora would only grow.

From that day forward, Sarna would do anything for her friends – even die.

* * *

Ziha Ridal's remaining arm felt like it was on fire. As he continued to march across the endless plains, the acidic tingling he had felt earlier was now making its way across his chest, down his hip and towards his left leg. Daylight had made it bright enough that he could see, but he dared not look at the wound, afraid of what he might behold. He could not afford any distractions as he made his way to the outpost.

But where the hell _was_ this outpost? Ziha was starting to think that Kam was misinformed, or possibly that he had intentionally withheld the location of it as a contingency plan for his own escape. Ziha coughed a few times, then a few times more. Before long, his coughing was so harsh that it stopped his stride. He leaned over, nauseated and exhausted. _How much further must I go?_ Regaining his stance, he ambled further in the tall grass. He swore he could see some vague shape in the distance – perhaps it was the outpost? It was either incredibly small or incredibly far away, but either way, he would get there. He had no choice. This was not the end of his story.

His left leg stuttered while taking a step, and he fell forward into the grass, hitting his head again. The pain was almost nonexistent now – either that or it had overtaken him for so long that it was beginning to become how he processed being alive. He tried to prop himself up on his left arm, but THAT pain was all too unbearable, and he could not do it. Ziha rolled over and used his abdomen to sit up. Looking onward, he saw the most peaceful thing he had seen in years.

The sunrise had just begun to crack over the horizon. The skies were a base of indigo with splashes of pink, and a single golden ray had cut through the wash of pastel shades, ever growing in size and brilliance. It wasn't long before a yellow ball of fire crept into sight, rising from the violet streaks like a neon bubble of warmth. The sky closest to the sun slowly turned a vibrant orange, and soon the cool colors faded completely, replaced by a warm palette of hues that bathed Ziha in the tranquil light of days past. All that was missing was the conical rocky formations, and he could have mistaken this planet for his home world, Balmorra.

Ziha Ridal watched the sunrise through muddled vision, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Soon, he had forgotten all about his grave injuries, and his pain had faded away. He could feel the warming energy of the sunlight, and almost feel his mother's embrace once again. Dawn had come to him.

The night was finally over.

* * *

Jett had broken out into a full-on sprint; the outpost had disappeared behind the small hill she was now climbing, but even then, she knew it was close. She could practically feel herself sitting in the _Lambda_ shuttle already, piloted towards Yavin 4. In an effort to stay composed, she tried hard to disassociate from Kam's death, knowing that the grief would overwhelm her. Thankfully, her emotions had been so convoluted in the rollercoaster of events that it was going to take active effort on her part to untangle everything she felt.

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks. She could feel something…that haunting sense of _cold_ was back. Snapping around, she saw Vader's black cloak downhill, maybe a click or so away. From a distance, he seemed to float across the grass, in that same eerie manner that Ziha once done on Talos after killing Verrul Bral…the two events might as well have been one after another. Terror flooded her mind; _if I can sense him, surely he can sense me_. And Jett knew that even if she got to the outpost's shuttle before him, he would bring it down. Panicking, she clasped the Adegan crystals in her jacket, combing the universe for answers.

Something answered Jett, but it wasn't what she hoped for.

Thunderous galloping from the opposite direction attracted her attention. Upon turning around, she beheld an enormous creature – quadruped, with a brown hide and several horns jutting from its head. As it neared, the rigidity of its body was telling of a thick shell – possibly an exoskeleton. It bellowed a monstrous roar, clearly charging for Jett with all its speed. She attempted to raise her rifle, but soon lost her focus. She became engrossed in the creature's animalistic energy, as she had felt within the hyenax that attacked Sarna. She could feel its killer instinct, its _hunger_ –

"STOP! STOOOOOP!" she screamed, holding out her right arm.

To her surprise, the creature _did_ stop.

For one reason or another, the beast had halted before her – maybe a few meters away. The longer it studied her, the clearer it became that the feelings she was experiencing weren't her own. Jett could feel an intense mental bond forming – one that spanned between her and the beast before her. Large and looming, it lowed with deep intensity, still raring to launch at her, but staying still as Jett kept her arm outstretched, exerting her will. As it bared rows of long fangs, her thoughts became its thoughts. She could feel its desire to rip her apart, and to consume her warm organs. But soon, Jett's thoughts began to swirl into the mental cloud, creating a mixture of the two. The animal did not necessarily need to kill _her_ – it just needed to eat. The planet of Vaal was a harsh ecosystem, and most of its food was earned predators that were its equal. The only exception was the hyenax, but they often traveled in packs, making it difficult to bring them down without being swarmed. It would need to be a thinner herd for the creature to be successful.

Jett's attention drew to Vader, and thus so did the creature's attention. In the distance, they both could see that a pack of hyenax was close by Vader – likely just ahead of Vader's line of sight.

This was a thinner herd. The creature could easily dominate them. Jett spoke, not realizing her thoughts were now aloud.

"The Force commands you – attack the herd before you…make _them_ your kill."

The animal bellowed a loud roar, saliva dripping from its maw. It charged beyond Jett, heading for the hyenax and Vader with a renewed vigor. A sudden onset of fatigue swept across her body and mind, slowing her pace. Jett shrugged it off, cautiously making her way toward the outpost with her head on a swivel. She could see the creature plowing towards the hyenax, and in less than a minute, it was ravaging the pack. Bodies flew left and right. Soon enough, Vader intersected the carnage, and Jett tried to use her Force influence a second time.

"He is your enemy," she both thought and spoke. "He comes to attack you – to take your food. He _must_ be beaten. Kill him!"

Strangely, Vader had already begun to attack the creature before Jett had ordered it. It was almost like Vader was _protecting_ the hyenax. Strange, but the distraction it provided Vader was all she needed; she had bought herself some time to get to the shuttle. But as she moved forward, she suddenly missed a step, dropping to one knee. Consciousness became cloudy, and Jett noticed that she was breathing heavily. _Why am I so tired all of a sudden_? Propping herself up on her one good arm, she looked down to see what was happening to Vader.

The creature lay motionless on the ground. Jett tried to sense its energy, but there was nothing.

Vader had somehow killed it. And now the hyenax were _following_ him.

 _He must be using the Force to control them, too._

In a desperate reaction, Jett focused her mind on connecting with the hyenax… _if I could turn them against him, maybe THEY could take him down_. She tried her hardest, pouring all she had into the Force.

And then she passed out.

* * *

When Jett Elleon fully awoke, it was to the roaring sound of a ship. She was face down in the grass, and when she picked herself off the ground, she saw the _Lambda-_ class shuttle in the air. The horror of what was happening fully snapped her back into reality, and she sprang to her feet.

"No. No! NOOOOO!"

The shuttle picked up speed, then hurtled off toward the stratosphere. Soon, it was gone.

"COWARD!" Jett screamed – partially out of rage, partially from fear. That shuttle was her last chance to escape this remote planet. Now the only remaining hope she had was in that outpost. _But what hope exactly?_ _I can't call another shuttle, and even if I did, it would have Imperial soldiers on board. Maybe I could capture the officers - force them to call one, and sneak aboard? There's so many ways that can go wrong…god-DAMN-it!_

Jett stared resentfully at her crippled left arm. She knew there was no real chance of her subduing three officers with this grave of an injury…not head-on, anyway, and definitely not without killing them. She had years of experience in sneaking around patrols, but her stealth missions were often premeditated, and she was never injured as seriously as she was now.

 _What am I going to do?_

Jett looked at the outpost in the distance. Hyenax were crawling all over it, and now, she could hear human screams echoing toward her. _I'm guessing those are the three officers…and I'm guessing they're not screaming because they're excited to see the hyenax._

 _Well, that's it, then._

She was now alone on the planet, with limited supplies, an injured arm, and a large number of predators of several species, some of which had overrun her only shelter. And her only way off the planet was to wait for an enemy shuttle to arrive so she could try to hijack it… _one-handed_.

But Jett Elleon was never one to back down from a challenge. And she was not going to today.


	6. Epilogue: The Harbinger

**Epilogue: The _Harbinger_**

"How could you do this to me – to our family?!"

Erim Getchell was standing just outside of her family home, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her mother – Vanelle – was walking away from Erim and the house; given the situation, Erim saw the unintended irony. Vanelle turned to face her, with the same striking blue eyes that Erim saw when she looked in the mirror. Staring her mother down, she inhaled deeply, her nostrils stinging from the cold air of Mandallia's winter.

"This is our only choice," her mother replied coldly. "House Vizsla has sided with the Empire, and we must remain loyal to our people."

"I thought our _loyalties_ lied with Mandalore. The Empire does not care about our people – only power. And Father would have never lent his blaster to outsiders under any – "

" _Your FATHER_ is not here anymore, Erim! And despite what you may think, you aren't the only one who has suffered greatly from losing him. So how _dare_ you try to justify your actions by what HE would have wanted? Never mind that you were just a _child_ the day he was taken from us. You know nothing about what he 'wanted!' "

Vanelle's anger hissed through her words. It was the one emotion Erim had seen her mother express, and she expressed it well.

"This is what is best for this family – for ALL of us," Vanelle continued. "Whether or not you turn your back on that is your choice, and yours alone."

"I'm not the traitor in this situation, Mother," Erim snarled, folding her arms.

"What are you suggesting?" Vanelle shouted, spreading her arms wide. "That our _entire house_ is betraying Mandalore - that you are the sole proprietor of truth?"

"There are others that see things my way. And there will undoubtedly be more."

"Then they can join you in your self-righteous wallowing," her mother dictated. "But you will NOT drag down our clan, nor your brothers with these thoughts. You don't have to agree with me, my daughter, but you will keep this... _rebellious_ attitude to yourself."

Vanelle Getchell continued walking away from her daughter, finished with this argument. Erim didn't have the time to fully process her thoughts before words came spilling out of her mouth.

"If you insist on taking this path, I cannot follow you down it."

Her mother stopped again, but did not turn around. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…that if this is what is to become of our family, then I have to leave Mandallia until things have changed. I cannot be a slave to the Galactic Empire. My dignity will not allow it."

"Then you would be a traitor - to your family and your house." Vanelle handed these words down like a judge. "You would leave us behind, all for your misplaced sense of pride?"

"YOU'RE the one that's leaving ME behind for YOUR misplaced sense of honor," Erim fired back. "You say you are loyal to Mandalore – to our family – but you align us with powers whose loyalties lie with politicians. And the last time I checked, Mandalorians were not ruled by politics."

"Being a Mandalorian is more than being a warrior, Erim."

"And being loyal is more than doing what you're told, Mother."

Having run out of words to say, Erim Getchell ran away, only carrying the weapons and armor on her back, forgetting that her helmet still sat on the mantle of their family home. Her mother Vanelle had never been one to renege on her word, which meant that the nightmare was becoming real. Clan Getchell had sold its soul to the Galactic Empire, along with the huge chunk of Mandalorians who were a part of House Vizsla. But Erim Getchell was not a part of that deal, and though her mother denied it, she _knew_ deep down that her father would have supported this choice – even if it meant appearing like a traitor to those too blind to see the truth. She would have to leave her people for the time being, but soon she would return with other Mandalorian sympathizers who would help her break the chains of Imperial control. For now, she ran without looking back at what she left behind, heading toward the Imperial docking bay. Ironically enough, that was where she'd find the only person left on Mandallia she trusted.

* * *

Imperial Commander Kam Bucca Sivora was holed up in his office, finishing the last of his menial paperwork for the day. He always thought it was ironic that the higher he ascended in military rank, the less _meaningful_ work he seemed to be doing. His brain barely registered what he was scribbling down as he worked through the stack, which is probably what let his mind wander. His eyes eventually found the toy speeder bike on his desk, which stopped his autopilot writing. Kam felt his shoulders sag as he sighed deeply, picking up the toy in his left hand. His thoughts were broken by several hard knocks on his door. Startled, he put the toy in his pocket before straightening up his posture and bellowing an authoritative "come in."

When the door opened, Sivora saw Erim Getchell standing in the entrance. She was wearing her traditional armor, its streaks of yellow and orange shining brightly under the light. Her short blond hair was disheveled, and her cobalt eyes were stained red; she had been crying, which was jarring for Sivora - she rarely showed emotion. Nonetheless, she kept her confident demeanor as she spoke.

"My mother has just informed me that House Vizsla had sided with the Empire, and our clan is going with them. I'm not sure how you're going to take this, but if my family belongs to your Empire, then I cannot belong to my family. Which means I can't stay here."

Kam had learned from past experience with Erim that when she was upset, she usually just wanted you to listen to her - not give her advice. "So what are you going to do?" he asked.

"I've got to leave Mandallia," Erim responded quickly. "My mother doesn't want me to speak my mind around my brothers, not to mention I can't stand being near her as of now. She would rather take the easy route than maintain our honor as a people. A Mandalore should rule Mandalorians - NOT the Empire. And as far as I'm concerned, Gar Saxon is an Imperial in Mandalorian armor."

Then Erim lost her composure. Her head sunk down, and a few sobs escaped her mouth as she covered her face with her hands. Kam instinctively rushed over to her and embraced her, holding her tightly as she sagged into his arms, crying harder. Her armor felt cold against his hands.

"Where am I going to go, Kam? I have _nothing_."

"You know that's not true, Erim."

She unburied her face from his chest, and their eyes met in silence.

"Do you have somewhere I can stay?" she implored. "Just for a few weeks, maybe?"

"I do, but it doesn't have to be 'a few weeks,' " he replied.

Erim studied his face with her sharp, crystalline eyes.

"You don't have to say that just to be polite, Kam."

Her tone was far more radiant than normal.

"I'm not being polite, Erim – I _mean_ it."

A warm glow beamed from her irises, but soon it faded, traded for a look of uncertainty. He could feel her withdrawing – sinking further away mentally, and soon physically, as she broke from his embrace, turning away from him.

"Maybe it's better if it's just a few weeks," Erim muttered. "For the both of us."

Kam sighed, but knew there was no point in arguing this with her. "I bought a Corellian light freighter off someone a few months ago – a YT-1250 called the _Harbinger_. Used to belong to some smugglers, so she's got a lot of modifications that I'm still trying to catalog. I've been giving her a long-overdue tune-up back on Corellia with a good friend of mine. If you can help me fix her up, you can use her until you have another ship, or as long as you like."

"Perhaps," Erim thought aloud, her voice hardening again. "I would only need it until I could buy my own starfighter – then I could figure something out on my own."

"There's no time limit on how long you keep the ship – you know that," Sivora offered.

"Yes Kam, I do know that," Erim replied coldly. "Can you take me to it anytime soon?"

"I'm actually headed there after I finish up here, so if you don't mind waiting a bit, then yes."

Erim found a chair near his office door, and sat down.

Kam continued talking as he ruffled through his papers. "So what – you going to find a job?"

"Either that, or something else that pays."

"Does 'something else that pays' include something illegal?" Kam looked up slyly.

"I'm not answering that while you're on the clock," Erim quipped, relinquishing a half-smile.

"Meh, whatever," Kam shrugged with a smile of his own. "It doesn't matter – I know you wouldn't get into crime, anyway."

Erim seemed offended by his comment, which amused him. "I am NOT the good girl you think I am," she said indignantly.

"Oh, I already knew that," Kam said with a laugh. "You took a hammer to that halo a _long_ time ago."

"I'm sure I did the same with my mother today, too," Erim recapped, her tone not wavering.

"Well," Kam started, "better be sure to make something out of the experience. Make it all count, you know?"

"Yeah," Erim said. "Yeah, I think I do."

* * *

After three days alone on Vaal, Jett Elleon finally got the chance she was waiting for.

She was rummaging through the wreckage of the _Halo Hammer_ for more supplies when she heard the ships booming through the atmosphere. As they neared, Jett made out three vessels – two _Lambda_ -class shuttles, and a light cruiser. They had broken off into separate paths; the cruiser moved toward Vader's crash site, and one of the shuttles headed toward the outpost.

The other shuttle was coming towards her.

Panicking, Jett hid behind a massive chunk of the ship's hull, sinking down low into the grass as the rumbling of the ship drew nearer – maybe thirty meters away. Through the deafening roar of engines, she heard the whine of landing gear unfolding, followed by the engines powering down. She heard the boarding ramp extend, then clanging of boots on duratsteel. Then she heard a different noise – one that sounded like a person speaking into a poor-quality voice amplifier. A quick peer around the corner showed her three black stormtroopers – _I've never seen that kind of armor before…_ Ducking behind the hunk of metal, Jett felt a strong chill as she heard the troopers fan out into their search zones, inching ever closer to her as their garbled chatter continued.

 _CRrrdrdCHCh. CHRrrdrPSHdrCHrr. KRrrrKRR._

She didn't know what to do. Knowing that stormtrooper armor often had motion sensors, she couldn't go anywhere…and even if she did, the plains offered no real cover – no place to hide. She was also in no real position to fight, her arm still severely wounded & bandaged. Her best shot at hiding was the gravesite of Sivora's ship, which was also surely the first place Imperials would investigate.

One of the trooper's footsteps crunched in the dirt a few meters ahead of Jett's hiding place. He was moving quickly.

 _SCHHdrSCHdrrr. CchhCHHhhChdr. KRrrCHrr._

Panic set in, and now Jett was trembling with anxiety.

 _There is nothing over here. There is nothing over here. There is nothing over here._

The trooper's footsteps stopped suddenly – less than a meter away.

 _There's nothing to speak of here._

 _PShhhKRrrCHDrrrCHdrrrPShh._

The footsteps trended away from her, and before long, they were distant. Jett sighed in massive relief. Though she had avoided detection for the time being, she could still hear the static-masked conversations of the troopers not too far away; they had likely stopped outside of their shuttle. She wished that she could somehow get on the shuttle and take off before the troopers left, but she knew that would be next to impossible without some form of a diversion. Otherwise, her second best chance at stealing a working ship was going to be the outpost, while they were still distracted with cleaning up the carnage that the hyenax had left behind.

Running out of ideas, Jett thought of the thermal detonator on her belt…but she was not willing to kill them – not unless she had no other choice. She then thought of the shock grenade on the other side of her belt; that would at least give her some time to board the _Lambda_ , or get a head start to run. But then they would _definitely_ know someone was here and summon the rest of the troops, and she had no idea how many troopers were still on the shuttle – a _Lambda_ could hold over a dozen passengers. None of her options were clear-cut solutions, and all of them were high-risk.

Then the shuttle's engine's roared to life again. Boots clanged up the boarding ramp, and soon it was taking off, its roar fading into the distance. Peering out from her hiding spot again, she saw they had headed towards Vader's crash site. Using Rezon's binoculars that she had recovered days ago, Jett saw the Imperial light cruiser, and outside of it were at least a dozen stormtroopers, donning their regular white armor. It looks as thought they were preparing to tow away the ruined remains of Vader's TIE fighter, which meant that they would likely return for the _Hammer's_ remains as well.

This was not looking good for Jett…she had planned to wait out the Imperial search parties, but she hadn't expected them to tow away the ship remains. Now, after they left, her only hiding spots would be gone, and she would be alone in the open plains of Vaal. Jett had spent her nights camping atop the _Halo Hammer's_ singed remains, high off the ground with a good enough vantage point to see any animals moving near the crash site. Without that, she would be unlikely to survive another night, unprotected from whatever lurked in the tall grasses. Knowing this, she had to make her move now – while the Imperials were still distracted with towing the TIE…

… _but how do I steal the ship?_ _The outpost is swarmed by Imperials too, and I have no idea how long they plan to stay before leaving behind the replacement officers. I could wait it out, but if I stay in the plains for too long, I risk being ambushed by predators. Then I'll have TWO groups of enemies after me._

Jett could feel herself being backed into a corner. None of her possible choices sounded good, but she knew if she didn't make a decision fast, a bad one would be made for her. She had to get off of the planet _before_ the Imperials cleaned up the crash sites – while they were still separated – and raiding the outpost seemed like her best chance.

It also seemed like her last chance.

Grabbing as many weapons & supplies as she could reasonably carry on her person, Jett began the long trek to the outpost, moving as fast as she could. She had made this trek several times in the last few days – sometimes to travel between the two spots, sometimes to search for supplies…and once to bury Kam Bucca Sivora's remains. When she passed by his makeshift grave amidst running to the outpost, a deep sadness jarred her, punching into her abdomen. She had forgiven him for his terrible crime of passive abandonment – one that had marred much of her life – and though she felt the weight of her grudge long gone, it pained her greatly to think that she never got the chance to tell him that not only was he forgiven, but that she was sorry. She was sorry for wanting to kill him - for _trying_ to kill him, and for the grief-ridden life he had led as a result of a choice he thought was the best he could do. Of course, her perception of what he did hadn't changed, but her _processing_ of it had. And holding on to the strong resentment she had for him had kept her from truly doing what she desired more than anything else: to be in control of her life, and of her destiny. But she would harbor these feelings no more – that much was sure.

Still, she wondered what life would have been like if they had both survived. They probably would have escaped Vaal together, and he likely would have joined her in the Rebellion. They could have both fought to destroy the system that had forever ruined their lives, and they could have done it _together_. After almost a decade, she would have had her mentor and closest friend back at her side again. But Kam was gone, and that future was no longer an option.

The outpost was now less than fifty meters away.

An oddly familiar chill crept up Jett's spine, amidst the whole flurry of emotions she was now feeling. She pushed them down, calming herself by clenching her mother's necklace and focusing on the peace that the Force brought her. There would be a time to feel – to fully explore her grief and anxieties – but it was not now. She had to shut out her feelings, for she needed unbroken focus to pull this off.

Jett ducked into the grass, peering at her target. This outpost was the smallest she had ever seen. It was built upon a large durasteel platform, around which the grass was mostly mown down. The platform was only big enough to house the two things on it, those being a small square building and the replacement _Lambda_ shuttle that had landed there. The building had a large satellite dish upon its roof, and below, Jett could see several stormtroopers conversing outside, while others worked to clean up what remained of their fellow officers. After a few minutes of surveillance, she counted eight troopers and three officers. They had her heavily outnumbered.

But she had two things they didn't: the Force, and nothing left to lose.

Jett saw two troopers talking with an officer. She lined up her rifle sights on the officer – right below his badge – before moving down to his kneecap.

 _PYUHRR!_

The remainder of the crew was immediately alert, but the two troopers next to him remained still.

 _PYUHRR! PYUHRR!_

A fourth trooper to the left had seen his comrades drop, and was rushing to them.

 _PYUHRR!_

A fifth was scanning the perimeter, his rifle now raised.

 _PYUHRR!_

Now the remaining troops had formed up tightly, surrounding the two officers. One of them spotted Jett, but she sensed it coming and ducked down into the grass as they fired.

 _PEOHHW! PEOHHW! PEOHHW! PEOHHW!_

Jett grabbed her last three smoke grenades, their pins rigged together so she could pull them all one-handed. She ripped out the pins in one strong jerk, rolling one grenade to the left, another to the right, and keeping one next to her. Slipping on her respirator, she crept off to the right as the targeted blaster fire continued. The four remaining troopers stayed clustered as the two officers stood back-to-back, pistols drawn. The troopers' cautiousness played into her hands, allowing the smoke to billow around her. Staying low, she crept through the gas clouds, straining to hear above the hissing of the grenades. When she arrived to the edge of the smoke, she grabbed her last thermal detonator and activated it before hurling it as hard as she could toward the outpost.

" _Get down!"_ she heard a male voice scream in the distance as the timer clicked and whirred.

 _BSHOOOM!_

Jett slung her rifle across her shoulder and started her dash to the outpost right after the detonator exploded, shock grenade in hand. A black cloud of dust was still settling as she ripped the pin out with her teeth, hurling it with great force.

 _PSHOWW!_

She heard the distressed cries of several soldiers – likely not all of them, but enough for her to make her final dash. Fear and adrenaline washed icy splashes across her body as she sprinted onto the durasteel ramp, heading toward the shuttle.

 _"They're heading for the shuttle! STOP them!"_

But they were too late. By the time that command was relayed, Jett had sprinted up the boarding ramp into the ship's dark interior, and activated the closing mechanism for the boarding ramp. As it hummed to life, she could hear and feel blaster fire pummeling the ship. Jett was safe for the time being, but she had to start the shuttle quickly - before they decided to use explosives. She continued her mad dash toward the cockpit.

And then she stopped.

As the light from outside faded, she saw _someone_ standing in the shuttle.

The ramp slammed shut behind her. Jett Elleon plunged into darkness.

A familiar chill swept over her, and terror swallowed her alive.

She could hear it.

 _The breathing_.


End file.
